


Finding Shelter

by dandelionwhiskey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dogs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fire, Fluff and Smut, Gay Panic, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Top!Castiel, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionwhiskey/pseuds/dandelionwhiskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is really very good at taking care of the dogs - Gabriel says he's a natural. He knows he's not supposed to pick favorites, because if someone adopts them, well, he would probably never forgive them.</p>
<p>Dean thinks maybe getting a dog will help him get off his ass and make something of his life, so why not hit up the shelter down the road? The guy behind the counter is a real prick about it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Shelter

Title: Finding Shelter  
Author: [dandelionwhiskey](http://dandelionwhiskey.tumblr.com) (tumblr)  
Fandom/Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy  
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Castiel/OMC, Sam/Jess  
Rating: Explicit  
Word Count: 30,430  
Warnings: Bottom!Dean, frequent references to fire, gay panic

Artist: [summersteve ](http://summersteve.tumblr.com/)(tumblr)  
Art link: [Art Masterpost](http://summersteve.tumblr.com/post/100503250092/dcbb-2014-submission-for-finding-shelter-by)

Summary: Castiel is really very good at taking care of the dogs - Gabriel says he's a natural. He knows he’s not supposed to pick favorites, because if someone adopts them, well, he would probably never forgive them.

Dean thinks maybe getting a dog will help him get off his ass and make something of his life, so why not hit up the shelter down the road? The guy behind the counter is a real prick about it, though.  


Dean Winchester is terrible at being on time. He bounces on his feet at the crosswalk, checking his watch, assuring himself that no more than five seconds have passed since he last glanced at it. He curses as the light refuses to change, estimating his chances of being run down by a car if he just closes his eyes and makes a run for it. He decides to check his watch again instead.

“Come on,” he mumbles under his breath. If he shows up late to this interview, he can kiss the job goodbye.

Not that anyone dreams of working at a bar-back when they're children; hauling kegs and washing glasses isn't the most glamorous of pursuits, but it will pay the increasingly intimidating stack of bills piling up on his kitchen counter. Dean huffs out a breath, guilt overwhelming him. Sam's been working double-shifts at the hospital just to cover their asses, which basically means he's home for about four hours a day and exhausted for all of it. Dean tries, he does, but sometimes there's just no getting through to someone running on shitty instant coffee and the horror of bedpan duty.

Dean had to quit the auto shop after an altercation with a customer that left him with a nasty black eye. He had tried to insist he was fine, the job was fine, but Sammy would hear none of it. He forced Dean to quit, using his big dumb doe eyes. Dean's job hunt tapered off after getting his sixteenth rejection call, but Sam continued to implore that he could handle it. When Dean caught Sam passed out on the kitchen table, fully clothed, he decided it was time for him to start pulling his weight. He'd heard about the bar gig from Sam, who noticed a hiring sign in the window on his commute in. Dean had easily charmed his way into an interview with the manager, but his tardiness would do nothing to help his severe under-qualification.

Dean is just about to throw himself at the mercy of the ever-flowing traffic when something cold pressed insistently into his palm. He does _not_ yelp as he yanks his hand away and whirls around to seek out the culprit.

The culprit is a smiling, auburn golden retriever, pressing her nose into his free hand. He blinks. She's attached to a leash who is attached to a man, who, Dean notices, definitely looks like a dog person. He's handsome, in that disheveled, lazy way, like he spends most of his time caring for others and leaves little time for himself. He's holding three other leashes, deftly keeping them aligned as the dogs squirm around each other to get to Dean. It takes him a long moment to realize the man is already talking.

“-just so rude, really, sorry again,” the man is saying, his voice low and rough, counteracting his soft, apologetic eyes.

“Oh, uh, it's really no big deal. They're cute.” Dean has never called anything cute in his life, but thankfully the stranger doesn't seem to notice his strange step out of character. The stranger gives him a pained smile, heeling the dogs. They sit obediently and stare up at the man, panting, awaiting their next order.  


 

“You're good with them,” Dean points out, and the guy laughs.

“They're not mine. I work for a rescue clinic. Canine exercise manager Castiel Novak, at your service.”

Dean whistles. “Sounds important.” He does not ask Castiel to repeat his name, even though he's pretty sure he heard wrong. He tries to memorize it but the stranger is laughing, and bizarrely, Dean’s own name escapes him for a moment.

“It's a very important way to say 'dog walker,' yes.”

Absently, Dean finds himself rubbing the golden retriever's ear. The dog leans into him, and gives him an admonishing look.

“You'd better not encourage her. She's been acting up today,” Castiel says, disappointment lacing his words.

“Aw, c'mon,” Dean says, cooing, “look how much she likes it.”

The dog snuffles into Dean's hand, and Castiel tugs back on the leash a little. “C'mon, Anna, leave him alone.” But the words have absolutely no bite behind them, offered half-heartedly, politely.

“Dean,” Dean says before he can stop himself.

“Leave Dean alone, girl,” Castiel says to the dog, but he's looking at Dean. Dean pulls his hand away and holds it up in surrender, allowing the professional to control his animals. One of the other dogs, a small Yorkshire terrier, sits on Castiel's foot. He sighs, shaking the dog off, just as the long-haired Pomeranian gives a high pitched yap. “It's not the most glamorous job, but it can be rewarding.”

Suddenly, Dean remembers himself, and whips around to see the green light shift to a yellow. He groans, audibly, and Castiel furrows his brow.

“Were you trying to cross? Oh, no. This light takes forever. I'm sorry we distracted you.”

Dean sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “No, it's fine. I was already late. The job is probably a lost cause, anyway.” He gives the stranger a helpless grin, and Castiel smiles back a little awkwardly.

“I'm sure you'll be fine,” he says encouragingly. “You'll get it.”

“I'm half an hour late for the interview,” Dean admits, finally saying it out loud. He groans. “Forty minutes by the time this light changes. There's no way.”

Castiel stares, frowning. “This is our fault.”

Dean tries not to grin at Castiel's inclusion of the dogs in blame.

“Don't worry about it, man. I doubt ten minutes will make a difference,” he sighs.

“If you say so,” Castiel says, clearly not quite understanding.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, trying not to be too upset with himself. Sammy would be a little let down, sure. Not because he wouldn't be bringing in any money, just because he couldn't manage to get his life together for three hours to get to a fucking interview. He smiles at Castiel, his eyes settling on the coffee shop on their corner. “Well, I think I'm gonna treat myself to a triple espresso for managing to fuck my life up worse than it already was,” he says cheerfully.

Castiel frowns. “Most people drink alcohol to drown their sorrows,” he offers.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, well, the nearest bar is the one I just screwed myself out of a job at, so I'm good on that front. Just caffeine for me. Easier on my liver, right?”

Castiel nods sagely. “Well, Dean, I wish you the best of luck.”

Dean mirrors the nod, starting off toward the cafe. “Thanks, uh,” he stalls, trying to recall the stranger's name, “Cas. Good luck with exercising your dogs.”

“Really, sorry about holding you up.”

///

“You know, Cas, I just don't think it was meant to be.” And Dean gives a quick wave, setting off in the opposite direction. Castiel watches him leave, Anna leaning against his leg and licking his palm. He blinks as the nickname Dean had given him finally sinks in. _Cas_ , he murmurs in his own mind. That's not bad.

He gathers up the dogs and continues their route. Castiel smiles tightly at passersby, running the conversation with Dean over and over again in his mind. He tries not to allow himself to feel guilty, but his conscience has this nasty habit of being harder on him than necessary. It's something his brother always gives him a hard time for; which, Cas assumes, Gabriel doesn't see the irony in. The dogs start to tug harder upon their approach to the shelter, knowing that food and water await their return.

They inherited the shelter from their late father three years ago. Castiel had worked there the majority of his life, after a brief stint in a sandwich shop that he doesn't like to talk about. He enjoyed working with his family, for the most part, but once his brother Michael had left for law school and cousin Uriel had decided he was more of a cat person, Castiel found that he preferred the shelter as a two-man operation. After their father died, Cas’ devastation left Gabriel impatient and fed up. He had dragged Cas out of the bed he’d been living in and threw him right back to work. It gave Cas something to care about again, reminded him that other lives depended on him.

Cas had shown Gabriel the ropes, left the book-keeping and bill-paying up to him, and suddenly the place was running better than it ever had before. The only downside was losing a best friend every week. He knows he shouldn't get attached to the dogs; it's one of the first rules of running a shelter, but sometimes he can't help but fall for them. Gabriel says too much heart has always been Castiel’s problem.

Castiel pushes the door to the shelter open; a small bell tinkles and sets off a litany of barking from its residents. He cringes against the sound. He sighs wearily, kneeling down to allow his dogs off their leashes. His brother Gabriel waves from behind the counter, not bothering to look up from the stacks of paperwork that surrounds him.

“Intakes?” Castiel asks over the noise, guiding his dogs back to their respective crates.

“Just two,” Gabriel replies, hoisting two small dogs up onto the counter. “Meet Raphael and Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” Cas balks. “Really, Gabe, you have got to give up this angel-name trend. Who's going to adopt a poodle named Lucifer?”

“Aw, c'mon, look at his face,” Gabriel coos, lifting one of Lucifer's curly paws to wave at Cas. He rubs his cheek against the dog's nose. “Who could say no to that?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, earning a knowing look from his brother. He ignores it, and begins to scoop food into the dog's bowls. They press themselves up against their crates, wriggling, dripping drool. “Shh,” Cas chides, making each dog sit before he offers their meal. They obey cheekily, scooting toward the bowls. Castiel looks the other way.

He wouldn't say he has a gift with dogs, like most “professionals” would say, but he does have an understanding with them. Gabriel constantly scolds him for going too easy on their residents, but Cas can't help it. They look at him with their round, soulful eyes and it is impossible for him to be stern. Even when they disrupt strangers on the street.

Cas sighs.

“All right, what has you so grumpy?” Gabriel asks, raising an eyebrow.

Cas shakes his head, walking over to the counter only to collapse over it, moping pathetically. “I may have inadvertently ruined a man's life today,” he mutters into his arm.

Gabriel shoves at him until he's standing back up, crossing his arms in front of his stomach, gloom written all over his face. “You're so fucking dramatic,” Gabe laughs. “How could you have possibly done that?”

“I made him miss a job interview,” Castiel says.

“What? Did you cause permanent damage to his legs or something?” Gabriel asks skeptically.

Cas frowns. “No, I believe he was already late. I just exacerbated it.”

“You did what? In _public_?”

Castiel starts. “What? No! I made it worse-”

“I bet you did! I didn't know you had it in you, man! Should I expect to pay a public indecency ticket?”

“There are times when I question my dedication to you, Gabriel,” Cas mutters darkly, met with a chuckle.

“You and me both, Bucko. Now, fill out Raphael's paperwork while I hit the can. Try not to beat yourself up too much, little brother.” Gabe gathers Lucifer up in his arms, carrying the dog to one of the empty crates. He sets him in, boops his nose, then disappears into the back room.

He tries to take Gabriel's advice and put Dean out of his mind.  
As Castiel moves to the other side of the counter and absent-mindedly shuffles together a small stack of papers, a young, black Labrador gazes up at him. He pats her head gently on the head. “Hey, girl. We'll find a place for you real soon, okay?"

///

Dean, on the other hand, is not having the same problem.

His knee bounces as he types out a text to Sam, woefully admitting he didn't land the job. He leaves out the part about it being mostly his fault but also partially the fault of a handsome stranger and his three dogs. He chuckles at his own inner monologue, which earns him a strange look from a little girl sitting three tables over. He makes a face at her and triumphantly returns to his text. Dean knocks back a gulp of his iced chocolate chip mocha blend, and the message sends along with a sigh.

Sammy was always telling him he'd give himself diabetes with his frilly coffees. But Sam, Dean would argue, I have the metabolism of an Olympian. Sam would scoff, tell him that he wouldn’t be twenty-five forever, and force him to take a blood test. But shit, as far as Dean is concerned, he allows himself two indulgences in the world: expensive beer and sweet, sugary, overly caffeinated coffee. Which, he notes, he might have to give up as a result of being totally fucking broke.

His phone buzzes almost instantly, startling him out of his pity party. Dean pictures Sam wearily holding a paper cup of bad instant coffee, probably on his first break in eight hours.

**Sammy [3:36 PM]** : Got the night off. I'll pick up Jakeeno's and we can talk.

Though excited at the prospect of pizza from his favorite local deli, Dean's heart sinks at "let's talk." The weight of those words should not be wielded lightly.

'Let's talk' was Dad telling him and Sam that their mom had died; it was Lisa telling him it was time for her to move on, and every firing, death, and break-up in his life. He knows Sam doesn't mean it that way, but it gives him that hollow, echoing feeling in his chest all the same.

He glares at his coffee, willing it to become alcoholic. Its refusal is damn near heartbreaking.

**Dean [3:37 PM]** : extra pepperoni, deep dish  
 **Sammy [3:37]** : Got it. I'll be home at 8.

Dean checks his watch. That gives him four hours to clean the apartment and mentally kick his ass for being the worst older brother in existence. Not that the watch cares, though; as Dean is constantly defying it anyway. It might say Dean has four hours, but whether Dean adheres to that is a whole other story. Dean’s pretty sure the watch is working a thankless job. He gathers up his things, nods once at the cute barista behind the counter, and sets off back home.

Their apartment is small. Not cramped, but modest, and hey-- at least he and Sam don't have to share a room anymore. If Dean were incredibly drunk, he might say something dorky like he enjoys the intimacy and being close to his family, but that would be the alcohol talking. Most of the apartment belongs to Sam, anyway. His medical textbooks; scratch that, _all_ the books, except for the small collection Dean keeps in a frayed cardboard box by his bed. Sammy's dishes, his television, his couch. Sam would insist all those things belong to both of them, but when push comes to shove, Dean knows he doesn't have much of a footprint in the world.

No possessions, no job, no girlfriend: just an enabling little brother and a drinking problem.

Dean rolls his eyes at himself, throws a few empty dishes into the sink and flips on the hot water. His self-pity gets him nowhere but damned if it doesn’t provide him the slightest edge of comfort. At least he recognizes how pathetic he is.

His mind wanders back to Castiel, the stranger with the dogs who had such an easy smile. Dean imagines working at a shelter would be depressing, but Cas seemed to enjoy it. Being around animals all day wouldn't be so bad, he muses, scrubbing at a plate. For the right person, anyway. Cas seemed like the right person; patient, friendly. Dean absently hopes that Cas isn't beating himself up about making Dean miss the light. It wasn't really his fault. He just seemed so damn apologetic about it.

Just as Dean is quietly wondering how many shelters there could be in the city, he hears Sam's keys jangling in the lock. He's just drying the last plate, placing it back in the cupboard and making his way into the living room.

Sam locks the door behind him, blue scrubs rumpled and and disheveled. He turns around and whistles appreciatively at the state of the place. "You cleaned?” Sam’s bag hits the floor with a resounding thump, echoing through the apartment. “Wow, you really must be feeling guilty.”

"Shut up. Can't I do something nice?”

Sam stares at him blankly.

Dean snatches the pizza out of his free hand. "Extra pepperoni?"

"Deep dish," Sam nods, following Dean into the kitchen, eyes traveling over the empty sink and garbage can. "You really went all out."

"Yeah, well, I had some time to kill," he mutters. As Sam grabs a plate from the cupboard for his pizza, Dean is already halfway through a slice, cheese dripping dangerously from the edges.

"Slow down, Jesus, Dean. You're gonna choke."

Dean grins, cheeks full. He swallows, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. Sam makes a face.

"Oh, don't pretend you have a weak stomach,” Dean accuses around his mouthful of food.”I know what you do all day."

"I'd rather clean out twenty bedpans than watch you eat."

"Really, Sammy, you wound me." Dean takes another enormous bite in retaliation. Sam sits down at the table, expression sobering a little, igniting that empty feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach.

"So, what happened today?" Sam asks, trying to sound casual, but sounding more like a disappointed mother than anything else.

"I don't know, Sam. I just lost track of time, it's not like I wanted it to happen.”

Sam shakes his head. "I think you did want it to happen, Dean." Just as Dean begins to protest, Sam holds up a hand. "Hear me out, man. You're a smart guy, and when you really want something, you get it. Like your car."

Dean considers his Impala, sitting clean and restored in their complex's parking lot. It was in terrible condition when he found it, a travesty, but he'd been putting it back together piece by piece over the past ten years, until she sat pristine and sleek as if she’d just rolled off the assembly line. He has a deep connection with her.

"Look, my point is, you clearly didn't want this job, or you'd have it. So, what do you want?"

"I want you to stop eating your pizza with a fork and knife," Dean says, snatching Sam's silverware out of his hands. "You're a man, for God's sake, have some pride."

Sam throws his hands up in defeat. "C'mon, man-"

"I don't fucking know, Sam, okay?" He snaps, earning a pitying look from his brother. Dean glowers. "Stop looking at me like that. It was easy for you, okay, med school, nursing and shit. Which is great," he adds hastily. "It's not that easy for everyone else."

"Dean, I'm not saying you have to figure your whole life out at this table," Sam says softly. "I don't even care if you figure out what part-time job you want. Just decide you want _something_ , and make it happen."

Dean tries to set the table on fire with his mind, just so Sam will talk about something else. It doesn't work, so he settles for grabbing a beer from the refrigerator and leaning against it, refusing to look at Sam.

A good few minutes of silence passes as Sam sits at the table with his arms crossed while Dean sips aggressively on his beer. Sam heaves a sigh, seemingly giving up, when Dean slams his empty bottle down on the counter.

Sam looks at him expectantly.

Dean shrugs. "I want a dog."

Sam doesn't move. "What?"

"I want a dog."

"What? Dean, I thought you hated dogs."

"I kind of do," he says, "but maybe I wouldn't hate _my_ dog. It would give me something to do. And give a shit about. I can be nurturing and shit."

Sam nods once. "Okay."

Dean nods, too. "Okay."

The silence is heavy. Sam scratches his head. "Um, so, do you want a puppy?" he tries.

Dean sits back down at the table and resumes eating. "No, man. I'd get a rescue, or a stray, or something. From a shelter. Give the little guy somewhere to belong," he says, as if it was something he’d thought about instead of a split-second decision.

"That's really altruistic of you, Dean."

"Shut up, you're altruistic."

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but decides against it, smiling very privately.

Dean's newfound energy translates into hunger, and he starts to shovel pizza into his mouth, not allowing that to stop his stream of consciousness. "Yeah, it'll be great. I can take him to the park, maybe meet some other dog owners. Teach him to roll over, do other dog stuff. You know. We'd be like Milo and Otis."

"Milo was a cat, Dean," Sam says evenly.

"But- oh," Dean's face falls. "Dogs are pretty expensive, aren't they? Food, and vet bills, and stuff? I guess... I guess I'd still need to get a job. But I could do that, something shitty and minimum wage, just to help out. No pressure."

"No pressure," Sam repeats, throwing his napkin down on the table. "Step one: find yourself a dog. I got my raise this week, we can afford it for now. Let everything else happen after that, okay, man?"

"You are God's gift to this world, Sammy, I swear it."

Sam laughs, pushing himself up from the table. "We'll see about that. I'm gonna go take a shower, you good?"

"Yeah," Dean nods, "I am. Thanks."  
///  
The next morning comes with a tall mug of green tea cradled against Castiel's chest as he descends the stairs. He's lived above the shelter his whole life-- first with his family, then with only his father, and now, alone. It makes the dogs easily accessible and safe, but it also gives Castiel a measure of comfort being so close to them. The sun is just peaking through their glass panel windows, the dogs happily wriggling against their crates.

"Hey, guys," Cas says softly, not wanting to break the early morning spell. But Lucifer begins to bark, setting off most of the other dogs. Castiel just smiles with exasperation, grabbing his food scoop and water jug. The dogs like the routine just as much as he does, he'd like to believe. Cas knows that the ideal is for these dogs to get adopted long before they get used to any routine, but he lives in the real world. Last week, they had to put down Zachariah, an old, temperamental mutt who was on his last legs. He'd been at the shelter for years.

Castiel sighs, flips the sign to OPEN, and sits at the counter to begin the day's paperwork. Lucifer and Raphael have had their vet visit already, but Jess would probably be stopping by later to check up on them. They are at ten dogs now, which puts them at maximum occupancy. That means they have to start turning dogs away, which is something Castiel is loathe to do.

Gabriel comes in at quarter to ten, tossing Castiel a banana which he does not catch. He coos at the dogs, drops the mail on the counter, and disappears into the back room. Castiel follows him to scold him for being late, leaving the door open behind him. Gabe is already sitting at the computer, firing up Excel to start paying some bills.

“Hey, did you hear that guy from the auto shop down the block got fired?” Gabriel offers, eyes glued to the computer screen.

“Which guy?” Castiel asks, and Gabriel scoffs.

“'Which guy?'” Gabriel repeats mockingly. “Sure, Castiel. You have no idea who the hot mechanic is or if he walks past us on his way to work every day.”

Castiel wills himself not to blush. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you have a jumpsuit thing? Or is it a blue-collar thing? C'mon, the guy was hot. Don't tell me you're not going to miss watching him walk by.”

“Will _you_?” Cas snipes petulantly, and Gabriel laughs.

“That's your department, little brother,” Gabriel shoots back easily, spinning around in the chair to look at Cas. “It might be time you got back out there, anyway. How long has it been since you got laid?”

Castiel sputters, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “That is really none of your business.”

Gabriel clicks his tongue. “Fine. I'm just trying to look out for you, kiddo. You missed your chance with the hot mechanic, wouldn't want you making that mistake again.”

Castiel backs out of the room, not interested in having this conversation. “I can pick my own partners, thank you,” he says, “I don't need you setting me up with every guy that wanders past the shelter.” He pulls the door shut and turns around, his heart jumping into his throat as freezes still. There’s a man standing in the middle of the room, and it takes Cas an embarrassingly long time to realize it’s Dean. He barely manages to catch his breath, trying desperately to save face with a quick, “hello.”

Dean raises his hand and waves, eyes wide. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Castiel waves him off, forcing a small smile.

“Uh, hi, there. Sorry about that, just, my brother, you know,” he mumbles, pointing back over his shoulder. “Brothers.”

Dean laughs easily, hands shoved in his pockets, looking criminally casual. “Yeah, I hear you. I got one of my own.”

Lucifer barks sharply and Castiel jumps, going over to his crate to calm him. Dean scrunches up his nose at the small dog. “I don’t get it,” he says, nodding at Lucifer. “Who even likes those dogs? Just the Paris Hilton types who need a froofy little accessory dog that yaps and shakes all the time?”

Castiel bristles. Small dogs got a bad rap, in his opinion, even though he’d never own one himself. All dogs deserve a fair shake. He decides to change the subject. “So, why are you here, Dean? Come to yell at me for making you miss your job interview?”

Dean grins, wide and disarming. “Yeah, I thought I’d give you a piece of my mind,” he said sarcastically. He put up his fists. “Put ‘em up.”

Cas laughs lightly and shakes his head. “Okay, I get it. I still feel bad.”

“Let it go, man. Really. It was for the best,” Dean shrugs, a touch of annoyance in his tone. “Turns out I didn’t really want the job anyway.”

Cas throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine. You win. So, tell me. Why are you here?”

Castiel tries not to let his heartbeat speed up, wills his breathing to stay even. There must be a reason Dean is here if it’s not to read him the riot act. A reason that Castiel might entertain, he thinks.

“Well, uh, I'm here for a dog,” Dean grins, spreading his arms out.

Oh.

“Oh.” Dean's smile drops and Castiel remembers himself, going into Work Mode. “Great! Um, what kind are you looking for? We have some really great dogs right now, take a look, I'm sure you'll find someone you like.” He gestures at Lucifer. “We just got him in last night, up to date on his shots-”

“Yeah, I'm gonna stop you right there. I want a dog for... guys, you know? Not something that'll fit in a purse.”

Castiel smiles tightly, deciding not to point out that dogs are gender neutral and all sorts of people can have all sorts of pets. He decides to leave that soapbox speech for another time-- Dean probably didn't even mean anything by it. After a moment of perusing, Dean ends up in front of the familiar golden retriever’s crate, kneels, and sticks his fingers through, catching her nose.

“Hey, girl. You're the one that scared the shit out of me on the street corner, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, something flares up in him. “Anna. She's the best of the bunch. Obedient, sweet, friendly. She's two, still got a long life ahead of her.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You sound attached to her.”

Castiel just smiles, if a little thinly. “I'm attached to all of them, Dean. It's my job.”

Dean looks a little surprised at Cas' tone, awkwardness seizing his posture. “Oh, okay. Well, I think she'd be a good fit, huh, girl?” Anna pants passively.

Castiel frowns. People usually take their time with this choice, meet all the dogs, ask to pet them and play with them. Dean's casual attitude is starting to get under Cas' skin. “This is a serious decision, Dean,” he offers, attempting to convey the weight of the situation. Dean narrows his eyes, stands back up and faces Cas.

“Uh, yeah. I know. Look, man, I've never had a dog before-” Dean starts, but stops abruptly when Cas laughs in surprise. “What?”

“Oh, no, it's just- Dean, do you know how much work owning a dog is?” Castiel asks, eyebrow raised sharply. Dean straightens, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“I’ve heard,” he says slowly, baiting, but Castiel doesn’t have the good sense not to take it.

He goes on. “They're not toys,” and he can almost hear the loftiness in his phrasing. He wills himself to stop, but the words are coming out like an avalanche of bad ideas. He can see Dean’s face darkening with each one. “They're a huge commitment, and it doesn't seem like you're very good at those.” Cas regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but Dean is on him before he can apologize.

“What the fuck? You don't know me, dude.” Dean sounds angry, but his face tells a completely different story.

“I know that you couldn't make it to a job interview on time.” Dean winces. “Dogs are expensive. Do you know how much food costs? Vet bills?” Castiel can't seem to stop himself, the words tumble out of him of their own avail.

Dean gapes at him. “Okay, you know what? Clearly, this was a mistake. I thought... well, I don't know what I thought. You know, Cas, I would have given her a great home. But now, she's gonna be stuck here in a cage. Good luck running your fucking business.” Dean turns on heel and walks briskly out of the shelter, leaving Cas to stand alone in the quiet room.

“Smooth,” Gabriel shouts from the back room, and Cas hangs his head. It's his job to be harsh, he reminds himself. He has to make sure each dog goes to a suitable home, somewhere they'll be taken care of- he can't just let every handsome, unemployed, leather-jacket wearing scrub leave here with dogs as great as Anna. He'd never forgive himself. He squares his shoulders and stomps grumpily to the counter, ignoring Anna's sympathetic whine. Gabriel peeks out from the back, taking in his brother's glum appearance.

“You know,” he says helpfully, “just because the dude didn't make it to a job interview doesn't mean he's unemployed. Or even broke. He could be independently wealthy. And I saw his ass from the back room, bro. I think we can put a tally in the 'mistake' column.”

Castiel puts his face in his hands, groaning audibly, and Gabriel pats him on the back.

///

Cas spends the rest of the day allowing his guilt to twist and pull in his stomach, cloud his brain, fumble his movements. He uselessly tries to talk to customers, mind often wandering in the middle of his sentence to run over his own words in his mind. Gabriel eventually kicks him off the floor so he avoids doing any more damage, but Cas just sulks in the back, unproductive and sullen.

“Castiel?” He hears Jess' lilt carry into the room. “Hey, Castiel. Gabriel said you were having a rough time.” She finds him pacing, hands clasped behind his back, brows drawn tightly in consternation. “What's going on?”

“I feel ashamed,” he sighs into the air. “I treated a customer poorly and now he probably hates me _and_ dogs. I probably screwed Anna out of ever getting adopted-”

“Castiel, calm down,” Jess interrupts, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Did he deserve it?”

“He was... mildly unprepared for the responsibility of owning a dog,” Cas says slowly, and Jess laughs.

“And you turned him away? Wow, he must have really made an impression on you.”

“I guess so,” Castiel quietly admits. “He didn't deserve it. I was out of line.”

“Oh, Castiel,” she smiles, catching his eye. “If you were _that_ out of line, he might be back.”

“With what, a lawsuit?” Castiel moans, and Jess shoves him.

“No, you idiot, to prove you wrong. Guys do that kind of dumb thing all the time. When he comes back, apologize. Easy.”

Castiel can't find it in himself to be offended at her generalization, interrupted by Lucifer loudly barking on the other side of the door. Jess straightens, tugs at her skirt, and swears.

“I bet he tore his stitches, the little shit,” she mutters. Before she can get to the door, Gabriel bursts though with a grin plastered across his face.

“Castiel, there's a tall drink of water out there asking for you.”

Jess gives Cas a knowing look, which he decidedly ignores. “You think everyone is tall.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Paul Bunyan would think this guy was tall,” he says, sticking out his tongue. Jess perks up.

“Really? Who says he's here for Castiel?” She leers, walking briskly toward the door. Gabe catches her around the waist and drags her back into the room, letting her squirm against him.

“He asked for him. By _name_.”

Castiel straightens, running a hand through his neglected hair. Gabriel clicks his tongue and tells him he looks great before shoving him into the lobby. He manages not to stumble too badly, righting himself and meeting the very, very high-up eyes of a stranger who looks as surprised as Cas probably does.

“Oh, uh, hello,” Castiel says, clutching his clipboard to his chest. The man offers him a polite smile, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair.

“You're Cas?”

Castiel blinks at the nickname, then recalls Dean's offhand comment earlier in the day. _Yeah, I've got a brother of my own._ He suddenly really wants to meet their parents, just to see how they could have produced two men with _that_ bone structure. He then very suddenly remembers that the last time he saw Dean he’d insulted him and driven him out of the store. He hoped his brother wasn’t the protective type.

He takes a large step backwards, eyes drifting down to the man's enormous hands and tries not to picture them clenching and driving into his cheek bone.

“Uh, yes,” he says nervously, “I'm Castiel.”

Dean's brother laughs, once, his giant shoulders rising and dropping. Castiel's face must be scrunched into something unpleasant, because the man holds up a ham-hock hand and smiles.

“No, no, sorry. It's just- the way Dean was talking, I pictured a woman.”

Castiel flinches, color rising to his cheeks. “I, uh.”

“I'm Dean's brother, Sam,” he says, extending a hand. Cas accepts it suspiciously, puzzlement adorning his features.

“What, uh, what did Dean say about our interaction?” He asks warily, shifting his weight guiltily.

“He said you wouldn't let him get a dog,” Sam sighs, and Castiel bites his bottom lip. “I told him you must have had a reason, and he about lost his fucking mind.” Sam winces at his own language. “Sorry.”

“I see, “ Cas says noncommittally, “and what made you think I was a girl?”

Sam rubs the back of his head. “He called you a 'little bitch.' Sorry.”

Castiel sighs heavily, eyes dropping to the floor. “No, it's okay, I deserve it.” Sam's eyebrows raise with concern.

“I'm sure that's not true, Dean has a way of pushing peoples' buttons-”

“I implied he was ill-fit to care for the dog because he is too poor and too selfish,” Castiel says flatly and the confession weighs heavily in the air.

Sam's body slumps in surprise. “Oh.”

“I didn't mean to,” Castiel adds quickly, “and I feel terrible. I've felt terrible since he left this morning. I just- he picked a dog I've grown attached to and I reacted rashly. Sam, I am so sorry, please. I never meant to insult him.”

“Whoa, okay, man. It's all right. I can tell you've been beating yourself up about this,” Sam says sympathetically. Cas stares.

“Dean seemed very excited,” he says after a moment. “If he comes in again, I would be more than happy to set him up with whatever dog he wants. I'll even knock the charge down. Just... tell him I'm very, very sorry.”

Sam nods. “You got it. And hey, if it's any consolation, I think Dean really likes you. He doesn't let anyone get under his skin like that.”

Castiel feels his face heat up, shuffling his feet with embarrassment.

“That is some consolation, thank you, Sam.”

Sam smiles as broad as his shoulders, dimples indenting just below his cheekbones. Castiel hears some intense whispers cutting through the door to the back room, but he ignores it, offering a smile back.

\\\\\\\

Dean slams his beer down on the table, eyes sliding to the ticking clock on the wall of their apartment. 4:30PM. Not too early to have a buzz going, he decides, and cracks open another one. He manages to get halfway through it before Sam looms into his vision, eyes narrowed angrily.

“Are you drunk? C'mon, Dean, it's five in the afternoon.”

“'M'not drunk,” Dean snaps. “I've had four fucking beers. Relax.”

“You really gotta start cutting back,” Sam says, staring at the half-eaten popcorn bag in Dean's lap.

“What, you gonna force me into A.A.? I'm fine, Sammy. Just chasing away some demons.” He takes a handful of popcorn and shoves it into his mouth ungracefully.

Sam's horrendously concerned eyes take up his entire field of vision, and he cringes against them.

“Dean, I'm serious. Besides, there's no need to be all self-loathing right now. I talked to Cas.”

Dean sets his beer down, back straightening. “Yeah?” He says gloomily. “Did he say you were too tall to adopt a dog? Or maybe your luscious hair is too long?”

“No, dammit. Dean, listen to me. We're going back and getting the dog, okay?”

Dean huffs. “I never want to see his _stupid_ face again,” he says petulantly.

Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing one of Dean's beers for himself.

“I hope you beat this existential crisis soon. If I take any more time off work we're gonna be in trouble.” Dean feels an intense pang of guilt. His temper tantrums certainly can't be any easier on Sam than they are on himself. He heaves himself up, watching Sam gulp down his beer.

“Okay, Sammy, you win. We'll go down and let Cas apologize. Preferably kneeling.” Sam sputters, beer spilling down his chin. Dean makes a strangled noise. “Not like that, you fucking pervert.”

“You sure?” He says after he catches his breath, smirking. “'Cause I'm pretty sure Cas wouldn't mind apologizing that way.”

“Gross, Sam.”

“I'm serious. The guy was practically in tears, he felt so bad. I think he'd do anything to make it up to you.”

Dean keeps the wall in his mind firmly up against that mental image, throwing a popcorn kernel at Sam, who just laughs and laughs.

\\\\\

When they push the door open to the shelter the next morning, Cas is waiting at the counter. He looks up at them and flushes. Dean clenches his jaw angrily as Sam greets Cas with a warm extended hand. Castiel shakes it and Dean hates him for it.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean mutters through gritted teeth and a sarcastic smile. He's decidedly _not_ noticing the crinkles around Castiel's blue eyes, the circles underneath which indicate a restless night. Maybe he really had been up all night worrying. The thought threatens to thaw Dean's frosty glare, and Dean's shoulders lose a measure of tension.

“Dean, I feel absolutely terrible about what I said to you,” he spills. “It was completely uncalled for, rude, and unprofessional. I sincerely hope you can find a way to forgive me.”

Sam elbows Dean hard on the small of his back.

“Uh, hey, whatever,” Dean says, caught off-guard by the sincerity pouring out of the other man. “It was fucked, but shit happens, right?”

Cas bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable with that answer. “Okay, Dean. Now, do you want me to take Anna out so you can meet her properly?”

“Yeah,” Sam interrupts, clapping his hands down on Dean's shoulders. “I think some getting-to-know-you time is definitely in order.” Dean wills Sam's shirt to catch fire. Cas directs Dean over to Anna's crate, where the dog is pressed happily against the metal bars. She wags her tail at his attention, jumping up as he flicks the latch open. She steps out and goes straight to Dean, sitting at his feet. He kneels down and she quickly presses her nose against his cheek, showering his face in licks.

“Hey, whoa, hey girl,” he laughs, rubbing the scruff around her neck. She pants, lifting a paw to his forearm. Cas scratches behind her ears, drawing her attention away from Dean for a moment.

“She likes you,” he says quietly.

“Aw, she likes everyone,” Dean laughs. “She's a dog.”

Cas colors a bit, smile fading very slightly. “Of course. I suppose it's silly of me to impose preferences on her.”

Dean notices Castiel's crestfallen look and straightens up. He offers a grin as relaxed as he can muster. Man, this guy is sensitive about his fucking dogs. “I'm glad she likes me,” he says amicably, letting Anna lick his hand. “That means she'll fit right in at home.”

This earns him what appears to be a genuine smile, crinkled eyes and all. Dean can't help but preen a little under the affectionate expression. His own smile eases into something more real. Anna whines softly, shifting her back feet and looking up at Castiel expectantly.

“Oh! Do you need to go out, girl?” Anna all but nods in response, butt wriggling in anticipation. Cas sets his eyes on Dean. “Do you want to walk her with me?”

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, sheepishly eyeing the leash Castiel produces from what seems like thin air. “Sure,” he says carefully, but Castiel looks ecstatic. Dean wonders if maybe Sam is right about how Cas’ interest in him. He had overheard Gabriel teasing him about another guy, but he wasn't sure how much of that was grounded in reality. Dean knows how brothers can be; Sam is a shining example of one who just won’t let up. If Gabriel is the same way, then maybe he really was only teasing earlier. Dean considers this as he latches the leash to Anna's collar.

He supposes Sam is doing something similar, teasing him about Cas, when Dean has never shown any interest in guys. Not to Sam, anyway. The truth is, Dean's not exactly sure how he feels when it comes to men- it's a pretty decent chunk of that existential crisis Sam seems to think he's going through.

Cas holds the door open for both him and the dog, who immediately bursts through and takes Dean along with her.

“Ahh!” He shouts, startled, feet dragging along the warm concrete as he glowers at Cas' laughter.

“Don't let her walk you,” he advises, and Dean resists the urge to flip him off. He straightens up, wrapping the leather leash a little more tightly around his knuckles, and tugs. Anna shakes her head, slobber flinging across the sidewalk, and slows apologetically to his side. Dean’s eyes widen in surprise, which Castiel apparently catches.

“We do a little training for the dogs that stick around longer than the others,” he explains, hands sliding into his pockets. The sun is high in the sky, beaming summer down around them. “So maybe people will be more willing to adopt them.”

Dean notes the subtle sadness in Castiel's tone, his slightly hunched posture. He dodges a woman on a cell phone coming from the other direction and looks down at the happily panting golden retriever at his hip. “No one wanted Anna?” He asks incredulously. “But she's so cool and friendly.”

Cas brightens slightly, nodding. A cool breeze ruffles his polo shirt and Dean wants to suggest he unbutton it a little against the heat. He doesn’t. “Most people go for younger dogs. Puppies. They want as much time as possible with them, you know?”

“That's a damn fucking shame, man,” Dean says sincerely, jiggling Anna's leash. She lolls her head back to look at him, tongue hanging out of her mouth. He grins at the sight. “Well, all those assholes really missed out, didn't they, girl?”

\\\\\

They make it back to the shelter in ten minutes, laughing as they push the door open. Castiel's fears surrounding Dean taking Anna have been neatly assuaged, driven away by Dean's careful attention, unsqueamish pick-up jobs, his happiness to let her lick him. Castiel had come to the conclusion that Dean was perfect.

For Anna, that is. Sure, he's handsome – who has eyelashes like that, anyway? – but he has his flaws. He does swear a lot, which Castiel finds awfully crass. But his younger brother seems to really care about him, and family is important. He seems immature, but he is smiling and laughing with Castiel now, despite his grudge. Castiel shakes his head, tuning back into Dean's idle chatter.

“-a really good job with her, Cas. I barely had to discipline her at all. And no accosting handsome strangers on the sidewalk! Score!” Dean holds up a hand to Anna who stares at it. “We'll have to teach you to high-five,” he mumbles, and Cas' heart swells a little at the promise.

“So,” he says as Dean stands again, “ready for some paperwork?”

Just as Dean is ready to give a resounding 'hell yes,' Sam lumbers into their conversation.

“No need, I already filled it out with Gabriel,” he grins, shoving the papers into Dean's hands. “All you have to do is sign.”

Dean levels a quick glare at his brother, who doesn't seem to notice. Castiel allows himself a secret smile as Dean uses Sam's back to scrawl his name. Lucifer spins circles in his crate, and Castiel takes a moment to calm him down.

“Hey there. Yeah, I know, I'd be antsy too if I'd been given that name. Try not to live up to it, all right?” Lucifer levels Cas' gaze and barks once. Castiel laughs, sticking his fingers through the bars to allow little Lucifer to lick them. He smiles, Lucifer spinning around once to lay down against his mass of blankets.

“So,” he hears from behind him, and stands up quickly. Dean is holding out the papers, eyebrows raised expectantly. Castiel takes them with a soft smile. Dean may come off somewhat harsh, but it’s clear that he has sincerity hiding under his sharp tongue.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says. He keeps his eyes on the ground as he moves behind the counter.

“You know, Cas, I think Anna's really going to miss you.” Castiel begins filling out his portion of the papers, wanting vainly to distract himself from the inevitability of losing his favorite dog.

“I think she'll be very happy with you,” is his measured response. His pathetic attempts to remain professional are getting embarrassing. More important than his own self-indulgence, though, is a good home for Anna and a good friend for Dean. As long as he remembers that, he’ll move on, as he does.

Dean chuckles, which makes Castiel look up sharply from the paperwork. He only hopes Dean is taking this seriously. When he sees the affection written all over Dean’s face as he looks down at Anna, all of Castiel’s fears wash away. He is about to say as much, when Dean catches his eye and asks, “how about you come visit her, sometimes?”

Castiel doesn't know how to respond, right away. Dean's expression doesn't change at Cas' hesitation, which only leads to further faltering on Castiel's end. Dean leans just a little bit closer and Cas is blushing, looking down at Anna.

“I'd like that, Dean,” he says quietly, eyes firmly on the counter between them. He can practically feel Dean’s grin.

“Cool. My information is on the sheet, there, feel free to-”

“Castiel!” Gabriel shouts, bounding in from the back room. “How did your date go last night, huh? You didn't get home until- oh, sorry,” he says upon noticing Dean, clearly not sorry, offering a shrug. Dean's expression darkens. Castiel tries not to panic or suffocate in his own embarrassment. He had gone out with the mechanic from the auto shop, who had stopped in and asked Cas for a drink. It was mostly awkward, sort of pleasant, but became a late night after he had shoved Castiel against his apartment door and stuck his hand down his pants.

Castiel had welcomed it as an appropriately timed one-night-stand, but didn't necessarily want his dirty laundry aired in front of customers. “It went fine, Gabe, please _go_ ,” Castiel flounders, glaring so heavily at his brother that Gabriel disappears into the back room without another word. Dean frowns.

“Anyway, maybe it's better if I bring her here, instead. To visit. After some time,” Dean says softly. Castiel's guilt swims around him.

“Okay,” he says, mildly proud that he was able to muster up his voice at all. “Whatever you think is best. I'd love to see her, obviously.”

Dean smiles thinly. “Sure. We done here?”

Cas can't ignore Dean's sudden shift in demeanor, cursing Gabriel intently in his mind. “Yeah, we are. Dean-”

“Okay, great. Anna?” Dean grabs Anna's ears, ruffling her as she leans against his legs. “Say bye to Cas.” Castiel leans forward to give his goodbyes, but Dean has already turned in the opposite direction, shouldered into Sam, and walked out the door.

///

Dean's first few weeks with Anna go more smoothly than he expects. It takes a few scoldings to keep her off the leather couch, and a few days to get her to stop whining at the door at two-thirty in the morning, but Dean is actually considering Anna to be the best decision he's made in a long time. Dean finds the best part of his day to be the walk to the dog park, Anna obediently panting at his hip. He lets her sleep at the foot of his bed, chin often resting over his calves.

He has pointedly not been back to visit Castiel. Sam has needled him about it, but Dean just grits his teeth and says Cas probably has more important things to do than force an awkward interaction with him. Sam never seems to like this answer, but he mostly allows Dean to wallow and sulk whenever the shelter is mentioned. Sam always sighs and rolls his eyes, but throws up his hands in acquiesce. Like he's saying, 'fine, Dean, continue to throw yourself around the apartment in despair, it's a good look on you.' This usually infuriates Dean further, but he tries to keep that ire a bit more bridled.

He clips on Anna's leash, jingling her new tags which bear Dean's name and address. No one ever says Dean Winchester doesn't do everything one hundred percent. Well, Sam might. But Sam can go fuck himself.

Dean steps outside, grateful for the summer sun. Anna closes her eyes against it, a big dog smile stretching across her face as they start toward the park. Dean knows he could avoid passing the shelter if he just goes a block out of his way (but it's not his responsibility to burden himself unnecessarily), or drives (but he's still not comfortable with a dog in his car), or goes at a different time (but then the park would be overrun with the early evening young professionals and their schnauzers), or even if he just closes his eyes really tightly when he passes their window (but running head-on into the parking meter on the sidewalk would be a thousand times worse than an awkward run-in with Castiel).

So, he just hunkers down and passes it, eyes drawn magnetically inside. Cas is leaning across the counter, hands clasped around the closed fists of a man standing with his back to the window. Dean glowers as he watches Cas slowly smile, and tears his eyes away to stare at Anna as she trots along. His biggest achievement in his own eyes was training her out of flipping her shit whenever she got near the shelter door. He's sure Cas didn't like looking out the window and seeing Dean dragging Anna away, but Dean is hard-pressed to care.

\\\\\

Cas knows that Dean passes the store each day with Anna. It's difficult not to notice; he could probably set his watch to match Dean's routine by now. He's starting to think Dean really did miss that job interview on purpose. Every day at 1:30, Dean strolls by the shop window, prompting Cas to do a round of feeding for the dogs. He switches the exercise regime so he won't have to risk an unpleasant run-in with Dean on the street. As much as he'd like to see Anna again, he's just not sure he can handle the intense cold-shoulder he knows is coming his way.

Besides, things are going well for him and if he's going to let Dean Winchester, a virtual stranger, weigh so heavily on his mind, he's got bigger issues to address. He does wish their interaction could have gone more smoothly- if purely from a business standpoint- but he can't help but feel Dean passing the shelter every day implies the wish is not one-sided.

He knows that angling Jeff in front of the door is potentially the least mature answer to his anguish. He's not even sure it would cause any adverse effect on Dean, after all. He also knows it's not entirely fair to his very accommodating maybe-sort-of-not-quite-partial boyfriend. They've only ventured a few dates, many of which never end up leaving either of their apartments. Cas takes the relationship for what it is, a welcome distraction from the stagnant reality that is his life.

Jeff is attractive and seems to see something in Cas, despite them having little-to-nothing in common. Jeff is funny, even if Cas doesn't always understand his jokes. And Jeff is good at fucking Castiel into the mattress, hands tight at Cas' pinned wrists, nuzzling sentiment into his neck. Cas is a pretty big fan of that aspect of his personality. It's why he doesn't mind threading his fingers through Jeff's while Dean peers in from the sidewalk outside.

Raphael is barking as Dean disappears from sight, which Cas takes a bit too long to realize.

“Earth to Cas?” Jeff says, tapping his forehead. “That dog is losing his mind over there.”

Cas, flustered, all but dives for Raphael's crate, cooing soothingly between the bars. Raphael stills, watching Cas, and lets out one forceful bark before Cas taps him on the nose.

“No. Remember when we went over this? If you bark and make lots of noise no one will want to take you home. You want a new home, don't you?” Raphael sits determinedly and shuts his mouth.

“How did you do that?” Jeff laughs, fingers falling to Castiel's shoulders. “It's like he understands you.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Cas smiles. “You just have to speak their language.”

“Which, apparently, is English,” Gabriel quips from where he's kneeling to feed Uriel. Castiel rolls his eyes.

“It's about your tone and body language, it doesn't matter what you say. That's for me, so I don't sound like a lunatic.”

“You're doing a bang-up job,” Gabriel drawls sarcastically.

“Hey, c'mon, Gabriel,” Jeff protests in an in-vain attempt to protect Castiel's feelings. He's always trying to defend Castiel's honor, which is sweet, but he's been dealing with his brother for decades. He knows Gabriel's ribbing is purely affectionate.

“Hey, it's fine,” Castiel laughs, getting to his feet and smiling bashfully. “I'm sure I do look crazy.”

“I think it's cute,” Jeff argues, knocking a knuckle against Castiel's cheek. Cas smiles warmly, tangling his index finger in the hem at the base of Jeff's shirt. It's not love, but it certainly is nice. Even with Gabriel's gagging noises as a backdrop.

The night falls and Castiel is happy to have put another good day behind him. There had been three adoptions which gave them open spots for intakes tomorrow. That always puts Cas in a hazy, good mood, like he's being wrapped up by all the goodness in the world. It helps that he's three sheets to the wind, Jeff mixing the best damn whiskey sours Cas had had in years.

He collapses on the couch, squinting at his watch. “It's midnight,” he says.

“It's okay,” Jeff says, pulling Cas over to him. “We got Gabe to open the store tomorrow, remember?”

“What? Oh, yes. I remember now. That means I can have another drink!” His excitement sparks something in Jeff's eyes, who rests a hand on the back of Castiel's neck.

“Slow down, Cowboy,” Jeff says, running a hand down Castiel's back. Cas leans back into it, sighing. “Maybe we could take a break.”

Castiel resists a pout. He's all clean and light, not in the mindset to get all wet and sticky. He pushes a little at Jeff, who falls into the crook of Castiel's neck and breathes, sending pleasant tingles down his spine. Maybe this will be okay. But then, Jeff is pulling back, eyes clouded.

“What?” Cas asks, concern prickling behind his ears.

“Can you hear that?”

Castiel scrunches his nose up distastefully, trying to focus. That’s when he hears it-- a deep, thumping sound coming from down below.

“Someone is knocking on the door to the shelter.” Castiel can feel adrenaline kicking in as he straightens up, trying to clear his head. He always tries not to panic, but his instincts don’t allow him to stay calm when the dogs are involved. Jeff cups his cheek and runs a hand through Cas’ disheveled hair in a poor attempt to straighten it.

“It's the middle of the night.” Jeff is complaining, as he does, but it’s hard to be annoyed when he’s tugging Cas back toward him. His eyes are open and caring and Castiel often wonders if they’re too honest. “Ignore it.”

Though he stares for a moment, Castiel jumps back to reality and pushes him away. “No, it could be important. Just wait here, it won't take long.” Before Jeff can protest, Castiel is carefully making his way down the stairs and flipping on the lights. The dogs wake up excitedly, thrilled at the late night visit. Cas tries to calm them as he peers out the door.

Out of all the things he expects to find, all the scenarios he’s been running in his mind, this was the last. He couldn’t have guessed Dean Winchester would be leaning against the shelter door, clutching Anna's leash, eyes cast hard at the ground. When he raises them to Cas', they're impossibly deep with worry, offsetting the stubborn clench of his jaw. Cas' heart jumps up into his throat and he can hardly hear over his pulse as he disables the alarm and yanks the door open.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice breathless and tired, feet dragging as Anna trots in behind him.

“Dean, what are you doing here? It's- it's soooo late.”

Dean raises an eyebrow but thankfully dismisses Castiel's slurring. “I know, I'm sorry, it's just Anna-”

Castiel drops to his knees instantly, taking the dog's head between his hands. “What's wrong? M'not a vet, Dean, Jess isn't here, I can't-”

“I don't know, she's been coughing all night, and I think I saw blood in her mouth-”

“Jesus, Dean,” Castiel complains, and Dean rubs a hand over his face.

“Look, I know, okay? I should have come earlier. I just thought maybe- I don't know, shit.”

Cas is barely paying attention though, pulling back Anna's lips to examine her gums, prying her mouth open to look into her mouth. Dean watches anxiously, leg bouncing, as Anna allows the intrusion. When Cas lets her go she coughs, and sneezes, head shaking violently.

“Shh, girl,” Cas murmurs, rubbing the back of her neck. Her demeanor is perfectly normal, calm, happy. “You're not in any pain at all, are you?” Anna licks his cheek.

Dean narrows his eyes. “I mean, she seems okay, but the blood-”

“She probably has a piece of wood or grass stuck in her throat,” Cas explains patiently and tries desperately to speak clearly around his buzz. “Were you playing- um, fetch? W’th wood sticks?” Dean hunches his shoulders, ashamed, and Cas holds up a hand. “S’ok. Everyone does it.”

“Oh. Well, yes, then. She's good at it,” he brags, and Castiel's heart does not thump. In fact, it stills. He stands up, brushing off his knees.

“Dogs wear their hearts on their sleeves, Dean,” Cas says. “If Anna isn't feeling well, it'll be written aaaaall over her face. She'll be the first to let you know. She seems fine, right?”

“Yes,” Dean admits slowly, eyeing Cas up and down. It makes Castiel feel all warm, and he laughs a little, catching himself in a sway.

He nods, maybe a bit too heavily. “Next time, go to one of those 24-hour vets, Dean. There are about a thousand of them in the city.”

Dean looks chastised, anger settling along his eyes. Castiel realizes far too late that it sounded like a dismissal, like he wasn’t happy to see him, like he didn’t want to see Anna, like he didn’t want to take Dean by the collar and-“Fine, sorry to bother you in the middle of your bender.”

Castiel blushes so hot he feels a little dizzy. He doesn’t mean to insult Dean, but his words just never seem to come out properly. “I- it's my night off-”

Dean waves the explanation away, smiling bitterly. “Whatever, Cas, nobody here is going to give you a hard time for getting drunk. God knows that'd be hypocritical of me.”

Castiel doesn't know how to respond, biting his lower lip, offering a guilty shrug. He watches Dean’s eyes flick down to his mouth and back up again, but he refuses to think anything of it. “I jus' wanted to relax a little bit.” Dean laughs, genuinely, and Cas allows himself to smile a little, too.

“You probably needed it,” Dean laments, rubbing the back of his head. The dogs squirm, panting, the only sound in the shelter as the two men look at each other and try not to let awkwardness fall too heavily between them. “Look-”

“Dean-”

They start simultaneously, then stop, and Dean clears his throat. “Listen, I'm sorry I've been such a dick. I have kind of a stubborn thing.”

“Really?” Cas teases flatly, saying a silent prayer when Dean grins. He’s taken another step closer, which Castiel hadn’t noticed, certainly not. Anna is laying down quietly, eyes slipped shut. Castiel almost feels like they’re in private despite the dogs rustling and snoring in their cages.

“Yeah, I can be a real asshole. You seem like a good dude, man. I mean, look at what you do.” Dean sweeps his hand toward all the dogs. Castiel can’t help but let some pride seep into his posture, straightening. This brings them nearly eye-level, hard to look away. “So, sorry if I made things harder on you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Maybe we could just start over,” he offers. Desperately hopes.

“Nah,” Dean says with a light shrug, “butting heads isn't a bad thing. Look where it got us.”

Cas suddenly becomes hyper aware, his skin prickling with warmth, Anna leaning against his legs. Dean takes his hands out of his pockets, letting them fall against his sides. Only a moment has passed, but it seems to stretch for minutes, so Cas smiles to assuage the slight discomfort creeping up his shoulders. Dean doesn't look uncomfortable, though.

He looks perfectly calm and at ease, the bastard. He very minutely leans toward Cas, an action that could easily be interpreted as nothing, but Cas reels backward and instantly loses his balance. His life flashes before his eyes, monotony and all, and he resigns himself to dying here on the floor.

“Whoa!” Dean rushes forward and grabs him before he falls, gripping his shoulders tightly and righting him. “You all right, buddy?” Dean brushes him off, and Cas can feel his fingertips leaving trails of heat.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Cas says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm good.”

Dean's still touching his shoulder, but he yanks it back as the back room door opens and Jeff peeks out.

“Castiel? What's- oh, hi,” Jeff says, raising a hand in a wave. Castiel feels panic creeping up his neck, but he manages to contain himself.

“Dean was having an emergency,” Castiel explains, ruffling Anna's ears. She pants happily. He sneaks a look at Dean, who is, surprisingly, smiling with a little chagrin.

“I am an inept dog owner,” he offers, hands going back into his pockets. “It's a good thing Cas is willing to roll out of bed to tend Anna's wounds.”

Castiel silently thanks Dean for his phrasing. Jeff, however, doesn't even seemed phased. He smiles at Castiel with such affection that Cas tries not to drown in it. Jeff comes up behind Cas and extends a hand to Dean, who shakes it politely.

“I'm Jeff,” he says, “Castiel's boyfriend.” Dean, to his credit, doesn't flinch. Neither does Cas, despite his uneasiness with the title.

“Dean, Castiel's former douchebag customer,” he says. “Or, I guess I'm still a douchebag because I interrupted your, uh, date,” he winks. Castiel is not one hundred percent sure this conversation is actually happening. He briefly wonders if Dean didn't actually catch him when he tripped and he's currently bleeding out on the floor hallucinating.

“It's no problem. I hope everything is okay with your dog,” Jeff says earnestly. Dean nods.

“All clear, thanks to Cas. I'll just be on my way now, and when I come back, it'll be at a more decent hour.” Castiel perks up at the promise, which Dean confirms with a nod. “You kids have a good night.”

Cas lets him out and rearms the alarm, then turns back to Jeff, who wraps his arms around Castiel. “That was nice of you,” he says quietly, dropping a kiss to Castiel's forehead. Cas presses his face into Jeff's neck, a warm bubble resting comfortably in his chest. Jeff tilts his head up and kisses his mouth, leading to Castiel happily fumbling for the light switches and being dragged back up the stairs.

\\\\\

Dean keeps his promise. His 1:30 skulks past the door change to a 1:00 visit twice a week, to three times a week, to daily. Sometimes Dean brings coffee, sometimes Cas has oatmeal raisin cookies which Dean politely declines but always ends up eating anyway. They chat while the dogs play, sometimes Dean schmoozes customers, and sometimes he throws dog treats at the back of Gabriel's head.

Sam shows up sometimes, too, although less frequently because Lucifer seems to go completely nuts whenever he's around. Gabe jokes that Sam and the dog must have a special connection, which Sam utterly abhors for a laundry list of reasons. Castiel seemed to be right about no one wanting a poodle named Lucifer, though, and he seems to be becoming a permanent resident.

“I love the little guy,” Gabriel scratches Lucifer's head, voice dramatic and lamenting. “He's a dick sometimes, but look at that face.”

Lucifer barks once, sharply, seemingly enjoying Dean’s unpleasant cringe. “Whatever you say, dude. I still think he's a menace who has it in for my brother.”

“I think it's cute how much he likes Sam.” Castiel knows taking Gabriel’s side drives Dean up the wall, something he’s learned to live for. He deliberately sucks on the end of a blue pen as he fills out paperwork on an adoption, happy to pretend he doesn’t see the way Dean watches him. He won’t push the issue, not if he gets to see Dean sputter in surprise and flail with overdramatic agitation.

“Likes him? The dog tries to attack him as soon as he steps foot through the door,” he grouses, shooting a glare Lucifer's way. The dog stares back evenly. Dean shudders in deep displeasure.

“Aw, that's just how he says 'I love you,'” Gabe murmurs into Lucifer's curly fur. Lucifer’s growl is almost affectionate.

The bell above the door jingles, and three sets of eyes fall on Jeff as he comes in. “Hey, guys,” he smiles, waving, and kisses Castiel hello. Dean busies himself with gathering up Anna and clipping on her leash, patting Jeff on the shoulder as he passes by him.

“Gotta run,” he says, smiling apologetically.

“I always seem to miss you, man,” he says regretfully, frowning in that way that screams how disappointed he really is. How Dean manages to just shrug it off is a mystery to Cas.

“Yeah, opposite schedules, I guess.” Dean really can't muster up the energy to give a fuck about Jeff. His big wide smiles and big wide hands cupping Castiel's cheek. The dude's niceness factor is so intense that it leaves a sour taste in Dean's mouth. He never swears, and is always smiling, and is totally cool with Castiel hanging out with Dean which isn't really a problem but Dean would like to think it _should_ be a problem.

Dean's jealousy is something he's only barely coming to terms with, mostly through forceful deep conversations with his needling harpy of a brother. Cas is one of the only friends Dean has made in the past few years, and his protectiveness is just manifesting itself in ways Dean isn't necessarily prepared for. Like awkward erections while watching Castiel chew on the end of a pen.

Cas watches him go over Jeff's shoulder, looking reproachful, and Dean just gives him a wink and a wave. He's got things to do, anyway, and Cas should get time with his boyfriend without Dean leering from the corner. Dean is back on the job market, to Sam's excitement, and going through interviews like a whirlwind. He has yet to be successful, but it surprisingly hasn't taken the wind from his sails.

“Dean!” He hears Castiel call, behind him. He's leaning out the door, offering a “just a second” to someone behind him, then jogging up to meet Dean.

“What's up, Cas?” Dean asks, shielding his eyes against the sun.

“Uh, so, I know you're on the job hunt, and I thought I'd let you know the auto shop down the road is hiring.”

A million reactions crash through Dean all at the same moment, and he settles on raising an eyebrow. “Isn't that where Jeff used to work?”

Castiel bites his lip. “Uh, yeah. But they still haven't found a new mechanic. If you tell them half the things you told me about that car you've been restoring, I'm sure they'd give you an interview.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head. “Talked your ear off about that thing, huh?”

“No,” Castiel smiles. “You like it, and it's something you're good at. You should go over there.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dean susses, “you want me to take the job your boyfriend got fired from? Don't you think Jeff might take that kind of... personally?”

Castiel shrugs. “He doesn't have the job anymore, and you're qualified. If he takes it personally, that's his own issue to deal with.” Dean stares at Castiel a moment, then remembers himself and nods.

“Okay, cool. Thanks, Cas, I'll check it out.”

“Good.” Cas nods once. “Good luck.”

Dean gives Castiel a salute, and turns his back. Once out of Cas' sight, he allows confusion to swim over his face. He's glad Cas is looking out for him, but he can't help but find it mildly inappropriate. He shakes the feeling out of his shoulders, banking a left toward the garage on the corner.

He's actually been in here before, looking for parts for the Impala. The owner, Bobby, is a nice enough guy, if gruff. Dean likes that, though. It's something he understands. He reminds Dean of his dad, really, long before he died in the accident. They probably would have been friends, if they'd known each other.

Dean ties Anna up outside, feeding her a treat he swiped from the jar at the shelter, and heads into the auto shop.

\\\\\

Castiel is just closing up, making sure the dogs are comfortable. The day was long, but successful. Things always picked up once the weather got warmer: People felt happier, more generous, more willing to train dogs outdoors. He wishes it could be year-round-- wishes all the dogs could find homes, but he's trying to see the silver lining. He goes to the door to flip the sign to 'Closed,' and arms the alarm. Lucifer is snoring softly and Cas rolls his eyes with affection.

He jumps when he hears a knock on the glass, and turns to see Dean waving on the other side. Castiel spares a glance to the clock, it was after ten. Dean never shows up this late, except a few months prior when he brought in Anna. Castiel disables the alarm and pulls the door open an inch.

“We're closed,” he says, smiling, and Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

“Make an exception.”

“Fine, fine.” Castiel doesn’t even bother hiding his grin as he pulls the door open for him. Dean barrels in, allowing Cas to lock the door behind him. When Castiel turns around, Dean has his arms spread out wide, almost as wide as the grin on his face. It is deeply contagious.

“What?” Cas can feel his heartbeat rising in his throat. His muscles are tight with anticipation, eyes wide as he gestures for Dean to say something.

“I got the job,” he says, trying to keep the pride from seeping into his voice but not quite succeeding. It isn’t what Cas was expecting - he doesn’t know what he was expecting - but his own reaction surprises him. He laughs, delighted.

"Dean, that's great," he says a bit too happily. Dean's excitement buzzes between them, feeding Castiel’s nervous energy. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he manages to keep a lid on it. "I knew you would. You were extremely qualified."

"Yeah, maybe, but I never would have bothered stepping in the door if it weren't for you," Dean says quickly, tripping over his 'thank you,' before surging forward and wrapping his arms around Cas. Castiel freezes, letting Dean hug him and being utterly unable to reciprocate due to the mutiny his body appears be throwing. paralyzation. When Dean pulls back, he hasn't noticed Castiel's consternation, and he's still smiling wide.

"Seriously, man, thank you. I owe you one."

"You do not," Cas says nervously. His skin feels like it’s on fire. Dean smells like firewood. "It was nothing."

Dean stares at him a moment, an eyebrow raised, and Castiel allows himself to realize he's being obtuse. "You're not thanking me for telling you about the job, are you?" He asks quietly.

"No," Dean nods, his mouth a firm line. "No, you did a lot more than that."

They watch each other, the streetlights outside flickering and casting a dark shadow across Dean's jaw line. Cas doesn't notice, though.

"I-," Castiel takes a step backward, hands falling to his sides. "I'm very happy your life is going in a direction you want," he says evasively. Dean's grin is back, however, and Castiel is so very relieved.

"Me too. Aw, man, Sammy is going to be so happy." Castiel finds himself repeating that in his head, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"You haven't told Sam yet?"

Dean pauses, and suddenly that nervous buzzing is back and Cas nearly reels back from the intensity. "No. I came here right after I got off the phone with Bobby." He frowns. "That's weird, isn't it?"

"Kind of," Castiel agrees, and laughs once in an attempt to break the clearly rising tension. Dean shrugs, but it's clear it's still weighing heavily behind his eyes.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you first," Dean says to the ceiling. Cas' fists unclench at his sides. It takes him a long moment to understand what that means, to analyze what Dean is trying to say. He’s concentrating so hard on that he hasn’t seen Dean step forward.

“Why?” Castiel just asks, because he wants to know. He needs to hear it. He’s not entirely convinced Dean will say it but he can’t imagine anything he wants more. Dean just looks at him, lips parted as he searches for words, eyes almost sad. Castiel absolutely cannot take it.

As if compelled by some outside force, he is suddenly and firmly striding across the room and cupping Dean's face between his hands, sparing two seconds for his confused expression before kissing him.  


A moment passes where neither of them move. Then, Castiel shoves Dean away from him, and Dean stumbles back against the glass door. They're both breathing too hard, Cas pink and flushed while Dean's color has drained completely from his face.

“Oh my God, Dean, I'm so sorry,” Castiel breathes, but Dean is yelling over him.

“What the hell was that, Cas?” He shouts, hands held in front of him defensively.

“I know,” Cas moans, covering his red face. “I know, I'm sorry, that was so inappropriate-”

“You're goddamn right it was!” Dean advances on his friend, leading Cas to look up with shame.

“I understand that, Dean, I know, you're straight-” he says at the same time Dean is saying, “Jesus, man, you have a fucking boyfriend.”

Cas stills, his tongue gone lead in his mouth. “What?”

“Uh, your _boyfriend_ of three months? Nicest guy on the planet? Any of this ringing a fucking bell?”

Castiel is having trouble hearing, thoughts pounding through his brain at a mile a minute. “Wait, you're worried about Jeff?”

“Fuckin' right! The dude is Mahatma fuckin' Gandhi, if you haven't noticed. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I like you,” Cas admits quietly, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“That's fuckin' aces, man, but you're not exactly in the position to be telling people that, all right?”

“You don't mind, though,” Cas says, and it's not a question.

“Are you listening to me? Forget about it, okay, don't go fucking up your perfect Martha Stewart relationship,” Dean says sharply.

Cas watches him a moment, and says, “What, you think you're not good enough?”

Dean heaves a disgusted sigh. “Yeah, we are not having that conversation right now. You want me to be honest? It's not exactly insulting that you're crushing on me, all right?” Castiel grins. “But if you dump Hercules because you think there's a happily-ever-after here, I will kick your ass.”

“I understand, Dean,” Cas says through his smile.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Do you? You don't look like someone who just got shot down.”

“Don't I?” Cas mumbles dreamily, and Dean glares at him.

“Listen to me, asshole. I want you to get this through your head. I want you to see it when you close your eyes. I want you to remember this forever.”

Cas nods obediently. Dean grabs him by the shoulders and catches his eyes, making sure Castiel is listening, and present. Castiel stares back, trying to focus.

“You got someone great in your life, so you and I, we are not happening. Got it?”

Castiel nods, allowing the smile to drop from his lips, but is unable to keep it out of his eyes. Dean notices and scoffs.

“I'm serious, man. Memorize that.”

Cas taps his temple. “Locked away.”

“Okay, good. And we're cool, okay?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“I'll be here tomorrow with Anna. Don't do anything stupid.”

“Congratulations on the job, Dean,” Castiel murmurs. Dean gives him a half-smile.

“Yeah, thanks again. 'Night.”

Dean shakes his head and turns on heel, pushing the door open and skulking off with his hands in his pockets.

Castiel watches him go and lets the smile creep back onto his face. He runs Dean's sentence over and over again in his head as he finishes closing up.

“You got someone great in your life, so you and I, we are not happening,” he had said, determined, choosing words carefully. Not “never,” not “won't,” just “can't.” Castiel remembers how Dean's mouth felt under his for the briefest of moments, he remembers his words, he rolls them around in his mind and lets them settle in for the long run.

\\\\\

Dean doesn't show up on time the following day, which worries Cas very minutely. He distractedly glances at the door enough times that it gets Gabriel snapping his fingers in front of his face.

“Sorry,” Castiel laments, shaking his head slowly. Gabriel clicks his tongue disinterestedly.

“Quit the boyfriend look-out, buddy,” Gabriel snorts, arms crossed. “I'm tired of running this place on my lonesome.”

“I'm not,” Castiel protests, “I know Jeff doesn't get off work for another hour.”

“Uh, yeah, we both know that's not who you're looking for.”

“Oh, fuck off, Gabriel,” Cas sighs.

Gabe perks up and shoves Castiel's shoulder, “where'd you learn that kind of language, Bro?”

Before Cas can scathingly retort, Lucifer starts to bark, loudly, and Sam comes in through the door.

“Sammy!” Gabriel greets warmly over the dog's incessant yapping. Sam gives a quick smile as Gabe drags Lucifer's crate to the back, which always calms him a bit.

“Sam, what brings you here?” Cas asks, trying to sound casual and probably failing in a bad way.

“Cas, hey, I'm on here on Dean's behalf. 'Cause, you know, I'm not busy,” Sam mutters. Castiel laughs a little, shifting, allowing Sam to continue. “Anyway, he said 'tell him things are a-okay, I just have a fuck-ton of shit to do today to get ready for the job he saddled me with.' His words.”

Cas sags with relief, giving Sam a smile he hopes isn't too wide. “Okay, good. I'll admit I was concerned about him, usually he runs like clockwork.”

Sam laughs. “Uh, okay. Are we talking about the same guy? Dean is in a perpetual state of lateness. He's gonna be late to his own funeral.”

Castiel furrows his brow. “Dean is extremely punctual. I could set my watch to him.”

Sam seems to balk, stumbling over his response of, “oh, sure, of course, I was only joking. Dean can be really consistent when he has a schedule going, right. Uh, anyway, look, I should run. He's not pissed at you, that's what matters, right?”

“...Right,” Castiel says slowly as Sam backs toward the door. “I spend my life worrying about whether or not Dean is happy with me.”

Sam laughs at that, gives him a mock salute, and leaves.

“That was weird,” Castiel says, and Gabriel reaches up to pat his head.  
\\\\\

“Dean!” Sam shouts, throwing the door to their apartment open, and Dean shoves Anna off the couch before Sam can see.

“Jesus, Sam, what?” He calls back as Anna glares at him from the floor.

“I delivered your message to Cas,” Sam says pointedly, and Dean looks up at him.

“Thanks,” he says, hunching his shoulders. “I just... I don't think I can see him today, I thought it would be okay, but I’m kinda freaking out now.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, no shit. He says you showed up at the same time every day? Since when do you do that?”

Dean groans, hiding his face in his arms. “C'mon, Sammy, don't do this to me.”

“He has no idea how bad you have it for him.”

“It's too late, I shut him down.”

“Yeah, the guy you've been fawning over for the past three months throws himself into your arms and you tell him no, I remember,” Sam says bitterly. Dean throws a couch pillow at him.

“He's got Jeff,” Dean says.

Sam nods. “Right, the guy who 'clearly isn't right for him,' that one?”

“I said that a long time ago.”

“Is it any less true now than it was last month?”

Dean's frown is so deep that Sam is worried his mouth will slip right off his face. “Sam, we had this argument already. They're happy, okay? You should see 'em, all nuzzling and kissing each other and gettin' drunk together and having dates. I'm not getting in the middle of that.”

“Whatever, Dean. When you get over yourself, I'm sure Cas would love to have this conversation with you.”

“Not gonna happen, Sammy,” Dean sighs.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam rolls his eyes. “I have to change for work. Make sure you continue to sit here and feel sorry for yourself the rest of the day, okay? You start work soon and you'll have to start working these pity parties into your new schedule.”

“Fuck you,” Dean offers helpfully.

\\\\\

When Dean doesn't return to the shelter, Cas allows himself to worry very slightly. Sam's visit had lead him gently into complacency, which is probably exactly what Dean's intention was. After a week of eyeing Dean's file, a week of his fingers creeping toward the “W” in the cabinet before slamming it shut again, and a week of Gabriel's constant taunting, he finally snatches it out and begins to type Dean's phone number into his cell.

He slams his phone down on the counter. This is entirely inappropriate. And not just from a business standpoint. He eyes his phone, which glimmers up at him enticingly. He clicks it on. Having Dean's number isn't too inappropriate. They're friends, and Dean might have questions about Anna or something. It could prevent him from showing up at the door in the middle of the night.

He saves the number and puts the phone down as an overwhelming wave of guilt rolls over him. He has to delete it. He can't take customers' numbers like that, how unethical. He is disgusted with himself. He glares at his phone, which sits silently on the counter, none-the-wiser. He picks it up, ready to delete it, when one of the dogs barks sharply.

Jeff pushes the door open to the shelter. Castiel naturally throws his phone over his shoulder, letting it clatter on the desk behind him. “Hey!”

“Hey, baby,” Jeff smiles tiredly, wrapping an arm around Cas and kissing him. Castiel presses himself into the hug, hoping Jeff's arms can stave off the nausea rolling in his stomach. They don't do the best job, but Cas sighs into it anyway.

“How was work? The new job treating you well?” Cas asks.

Jeff shrugs, releasing Cas from his grip. “I don't know, Castiel,” he says miserably. “It's just a sales job. I guess that's what I get for getting fired.”

Castiel frowns. “C'mon, don't be so down on yourself.”

“That job was my life, Cas,” Jeff sighs. “I miss it. One customer complaint, and that's it. Bobby was a real tough boss.”

“Cheer up,” Cas says dismissively, grabbing his phone off the desk. “Let's go upstairs and watch a movie.” He takes Jeff's hand and tugs him toward the door. Jeff allows himself to be dragged.

\\\\\

Jeff decided to doze softly on the couch, which leaves Cas watching the movie alone. He pulls out his phone, fiddling with it, staring at it, staring at the movie, staring at his text message folder. He watches, horrified, as his fingers type out Dean's name, and open a new message.

He feels like he's barely clinging to control of his body, his hands completely moving of their own volition. Obviously, if he had the power, he wouldn't be typing a message out to Dean, he would be cuddling into his boyfriend on the couch and watching the godforsaken movie. But the demon controlling his movements hesitates only momentarily before shooting off the text.

**Castiel Novak [8:22 PM]** : hey dean, what r u up 2?

He puts his phone aside. What's done is done, he bemoans, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. Dean might be completely terrified, freaked out, never talk to Castiel again. Cas allows the panic to swim in front of his eyes as the minutes pass with no response. He considers throwing himself out the window, but snaps back to reality when his phone buzzes.

**Dean W [8:23 PM]** : who is this?

Oh. Cas allows a nervous laugh to quietly bubble from his throat.

**Castiel Novak: [8:23 PM]** it's cas  
 **Dean W [8:24 PM]** : oh k I thought you were a girl lol. what do you wnt cas  
 **Castiel Novak [8:24 PM]** : just 2 talk. bored. how's anna?  
 **Dean W [8:25 PM]** : i dunno, being a dog. shes good.

Castiel sighs, running a hand through his hair. He has to proceed carefully if he wants to get Dean to come back, to know that he's not angry. He takes a breath.

**Castiel Novak [8:26 PM]** : have u ever seen mean girls  
 **Dean W [8:26 PM]** : uh no that is a chick movie  
 **Castiel Novak [8:26 PM]** : o get over urself dean  
 **Dean W [8:27 PM]** : fine ive seen it once or twice  
 **Castiel Novak [8:28 PM]** : im watching it now  
 **Dean W [8:28 PM]** : is that why your typing like a 12 yr old?

Castiel snorts.

**Castiel Novak [8:29 PM]** : stfu it's easier and ur not exactly the crown prince of grammar  
 **Dean W [8:29 PM]** : compared to you i am jk rowling  
 **Castiel Novak [8:30 PM]** : was that the only writer u could think of  
 **Dean W** [8:30 PM]: fuck yourself cas

Castiel allows himself a little hope.

**Castiel Novak [8:32 PM]** : that doesn't sound like fun at all  
 **Dean W [8:33 PM]** : well you dont have to take it litrally  
 **Castiel Novak [8:34 PM]** : o i kno. i dont plan to.  
 **Dean W [8:35 PM]** : youll have to call up your bf then i guess  
 **Castiel Novak [8:35 PM]** : nah just shake him awake

Cas cringes as soon as he hits send, wishing desperately he could claw that text back into his phone. His fears are realized when Dean doesn't text back, despite being prompt earlier. Cas allows ten minutes to pass before he decides to throw caution to the wind and prompt his friend.

**Castiel Novak [8:45 PM]** : dean? where did u go?  
 **Dean W [8:46 PM]** : dont text me when you’re on a date with your boyfriend asshole  
 **Castiel Novak [8:46 PM]** : it's not a date he's sleeping on the couch  
 **Dean W [8:50 PM]** : whatever man. im not even gonna ask how yu got my number but i bet it was nothing good

The guilt flares up again, but Cas decidedly ignores it.

**Castiel Novak [8:52 PM]** : come in 2morro. plz.  
 **Dean W [8:56 PM]:** fine, you awkward duchebag

Castiel grins, looking over to Jeff as he stirs awake.

“Oops,” Jeff yawns, straightening on the couch. “I guess work is wearing me out more than I thought. Sorry, baby.”

“It's okay,” Cas soothes, squeezing Jeff's shoulder.

“Who were you texting?” He asks, stretching his hands over his head.

Cas bites his lip. “Uh, Dean. He was wondering if he could come by with Anna tomorrow.”

Jeff furrows his brow. “Does he usually ask? I thought he just showed up.”

“Normally,” Cas nods, “but he just got a new job, his schedule has been a little shaken up.”

A genuine smile breaks out across Jeff's face, and he strokes the back of Castiel's neck. “Oh, he finally got a job, huh? Where?”

Cas vision greys out at the edges. “Um, Bobby's.”

Jeff slowly takes his hand off Castiel's neck, leaning back, giving him a look Cas can't look directly at. “Bobby's? My old job?”

“Yeah,” Cas says quietly. “He works on cars, I thought that-”

“YOU thought?” Jeff asks incredulously, scooting back on the couch. “Did you encourage him to get the job, Castiel?”

Cas hunches his shoulders. “I may have told him about it,” he says to his bellybutton.

Jeff is quiet for a moment. “I don't understand. You know how much that job meant to me, and you shucked it off to a customer?”

Castiel's face burns hot. “Well, it's not like you were going to get it back,” he snaps. “Should I have just let a friend wallow in unemployment because you have weird attachment issues-”

“-to a job I had for fifteen years? Yeah, Cas, that's what you should have done. Jesus.” Jeff swipes a hand over his face. “Is there something going on there? Do you have a crush on him or something?”

“What?” Cas shouts, too loudly and too quickly. “No, God, Jeff.”

“He's straight, you know that, right?” Jeff says pointedly. His ire flares at Cas' hesitation, and he stands up. “Okay. You know what, great. You can spend your time chasing the uncatchable, but I'm not going to waste my life playing second-fiddle to a hopeless crush.”

“Jeff-” Castiel stands, but there's no urgency behind him.

Jeff watches him and rolls his eyes. “You don't really want to stop me, Castiel.”

Cas' arms drop to his sides and he stares at Jeff with shame. He wonders if making decisions that piss people off is just hardwired into his DNA. Nice guys like Jeff don't deserve to be cast aside for Castiel's own selfish urges. He hangs his head, anxiety prickling his skin.

“Look, Cas, I don't think you're a bad guy, okay?” Jeff says softly. Cas peeks up at him. “I'm just going to go. You'll figure things out.”

“Okay,” Cas mumbles. Jeff shuts the door behind him and Castiel listens to his feet hit every stair down.

When Cas heads down to lock up behind Jeff, he hesitates briefly in the middle of the room, shoulders slumped. Raphael looks up at him mournfully, emitting a low wine. Cas settles next to his crate, sticking his fingers through the grate so Raphael can lean against him, snuffling into his hand, blinking sleepily.

“What are you so worried about?” Cas asks, scratching at Raphael's nose. “I make sure you get food. I make sure you're warm. And I'll definitely make sure you find a home. Leave the worrying to me, okay, buddy?”

Raphael sighs heavily.

“What I wouldn't give for a life like yours,” Castiel says through a smile, stroking Raphael's ear until the dog falls asleep.

///

Another week passes without Dean visiting the shelter. Apparently, texting is acceptable, but actually looking Castiel in the face would be too difficult. Dean doesn't bother searching for the logic in that, because he's pretty sure he wouldn't find anything. He keeps the conversations light and free of innuendo, and Cas seems to be following suit. This both appeases and annoys Dean.

Two hours ago, just as he'd started to think his hiatus was running a little long, his phone buzzed.

**Castiel Novak [4:22 PM]** : lady who smells like pistachios came in 2 look @ luci again 2day  
 **Dean W [4:22 PM]** : still didn't adopt him, tho?  
 **Castiel Novak [4:23 PM]** : n i think she just likes 2 feel wanted  
 **Dean W [4:24 PM]** : I know the feeling  
 **Castiel Novak [4:25 PM]** : ya me 2  
 **Dean W [4:26 PM]** : oh shut up, i'm sure hercules makes you feel pleanty wanted  
 **Castiel Novak [4:27 PM]** : not really since he dumped me last week

Dean stared.

**Dean W [4:30 PM]** : wat  
 **Castiel Novak [4:30 PM]** : ya we broke up

“What?” he had said out loud.

For two hours, he stares at the text, angrily letting the words swim and blur and burn themselves into his retinas. He's not sure why he's pissed but he knows it's getting worse the longer he looks at it.

He considers it. He's not angry with Cas for getting dumped, that would be beyond ridiculous. He's not mad at Jeff for doing the dumping, although he should be. He's not really even angry it took Castiel this long to tell him. It doesn't even affect him, really. It could potentially make things more complicated, but only if he wants them to, and he doesn't even know if he wants them to.

“Argh!” Dean shoves his face into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until color blossoms behind them. He's not sure how much time passes until Sam is home from work and shoving at his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, shaking Dean none-so-gently.

“What are you even doing here?” Dean snaps, slapping Sam's hands away. “Aren't you supposed to have some insanely demanding job that keeps you away at all hours of the day?”

“Uh, don't you have a brand new job you should be giddy over instead of moping around the house like a tipsy desperate housewife?” Sam rebutts, pulling his scrubs off over his head.

“I despise you very deeply right now.”

“Seriously, Dean, what's up your ass?”

Dean whips his phone at his brother, who drops everything in his hands to barely catch it. After fumbling for a moment he straightens it, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

“Dean, are you kidding me? This is what you're going suicidal over?”

Dean groans, burying his face in a couch pillow.

“You're such a drama queen. How did it take you this long to figure out you're gay?”

“I'm not gay,” Dean mumbles miserably into the pillow.

“Please tell me you're not having a gay crisis,” Sam says flatly. “I have neither the time nor energy to drag you kicking and screaming from the closet.”

Dean glares hard at Sam over the rim of the pillow.

“Have you jerked off thinking about him?” Sam asks pointedly. Dean sputters.

“What? Jesus, Sam, I'm not telling you that!”

“So, 'yes,' then,” Sam says, disappearing to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. Dean is quiet a moment, long enough that Sam leans out of the kitchen to give him a _look_. Dean grunts.

“He's got nice hands.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “All right, here's the deal, Dean. This You, the one that's weird and swoony and self-deprecating is seriously uncool. I'm tired of yanking you from the precipice of despair. So, I'm gonna use your phone to text Cas and ask him to coffee- and you're going to go.”

Dean leaps at Sam with surprising agility, but Sam has already pressed send.

“I typed it in the kitchen,” he says smugly.

“I'm going to fucking murder you in your sleep. I'm going to set your bed on fire and hide your hairbrush.”

“You'll thank me,” Sam shrugs, shoving the phone back into Dean's hands. “Hopefully in a manly, non-feelings related way. That'll be the Dean I know.”

\\\\\

**Dean W [6:30 PM]** : sucks. want to get coffee?

Castiel squirms. The response had come an agonizing two hours later, long enough for Cas to run every potential scenario from Dean ignoring the text to Dean dead at the bottom of the ocean after driving the Impala off a bridge. He's considering the possibility of Dean having been kidnapped by Latvian gangsters when his phone beeps. He looks at the message, demanding it become clearer to him, but the message remains stubbornly cryptic.

“Why can't people just say what they mean?” Castiel complains, crossing his arms across his chest. “It would make it infinitely easier on people who struggle with social cues. Like me.”

“Oh,” says Gabriel, “so you _have_ told Dean how badly you want to tackle him and do the horizontal tango with him right there in front of Lucifer and everyone?”

“Gabe!” Cas snaps, “I just got dumped. I'm-”

“Uh, yeah, you got dumped by your _mistress_. Everyone knows where your true affections lay.”

Castiel stills his jaw. “I'm tired of your insinuations, Gabriel.”

“Aw, lighten up, little brother! I'm just teasing because I know that one day you two crazy kids will get your shit together and screw each other often and in public.”

Cas sighs. “I don't know. Dean reeks of heterosexuality-” Gabriel scrunches up his nose. “-and I think if I kissed him again he might have an aneurism.”

“Did you just say 'again?'” Gabriel gapes. “You holding out on me, Cas?”

“Oh,” Cas blushes, “I kissed him a few weeks ago. When he got the mechanic job. It didn't end well.”

“So, before you and Jeff were kaput?”

“That was sort of Dean's issue with it,” Castiel admits quietly. “I thought maybe that meant something, like maybe he thought I was too good for him.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes. “So, you implied that you're better than him for the second time?”

“What? No!” Cas panics, going back over their conversation.

“Why would Dean think you were better than him, Castiel?” Gabriel asks slowly.

“I don't know, he's hard on himself.” Castiel groans. “I did ask him if he thought he wasn't good enough.”

“Castiel, you are insurmountably stupid,” Gabriel says sagely.

“But he said it wasn't a bad thing that I had a crush,” Castiel tries pathetically, but the misery is already seeping into his voice. “Shit.”

Gabriel moves faster than Cas can stop him, snatching up Castiel's phone and disappearing into the back room.

“Hey!” Cas tries to follow, but the door is wedged shut. “Gabriel, damn it! What are you doing?”  
Gabriel re-emerges after a moment, tossing Cas his phone. “There. You're having coffee in an hour. Go take a shower and get all pretty because I told him you're bringing your A-game.”

“What? Oh, God.”

“Chop chop, bro.”

\\\\\

**Castiel Novak [6:35 PM]:** Hour, Urban Bean. Wear green.

Dean scrunches up his nose at the text. First of all, the grammar is excessively better than anything Cas has ever typed. Dean shuffles through the clean pile of clothes on his floor and digs out a forest green t-shirt Sam had bought him for Christmas. At the time he'd raised an eyebrow at receiving clothing for a holiday reserved for booze and toys, but Sam had quickly made up for it with an aged bottle of Laphroig scotch. Dean had gotten Sam an RC car and a twelve pack of Bud Light.

He spares himself a glance in the mirror, deciding he looks fine (as usual). Sam leans into the room.

“Are you gonna say thank you?”

Dean flips him off. “It's just coffee. Don't go planning a wedding on me.”

“White water lilies. Robin's-egg blue vests for the groomsman. You and Cas will wear sage green ties.”

“You sure you don't want to go on this date, Sammy?”

“Positive. Actually,” Sam hesitates, rubbing the back of his head. “I was wondering if you knew anything about that girl who works at the shelter. The vet.”

Dean whips around. “Who? Jess? Do you have a crush? Is this what tables-turning feels like?”

“Calm down, Hitch. I'm interested in a hot girl. I'm not exactly ashamed of that.”

Dean slumps. “Fine. Yes, she's single, and pretty cool. I'd have gone after her myself if I wasn't wrapped up in this homosexual meltdown.”

“You called it a date,” Sam points out.

“What?”

“Just now, you asked me if I wanted to go on the date for you. Date. You said date.”

Dean stares straight ahead, thoughts struggling through a panic-induced pool of molasses. “Uh.”

Sam grins, winking at his older brother. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

Dean actually manages to make himself leave the apartment. He debates bringing Anna but opts to leave her at home in Sam's care. Sam pretends to be exasperated with her, but Dean knows as soon as he leaves the house that Sam is wrestling with her and spoiling her with too many milkbones. Leaving Anna at home means that this get-together is about them, as friends, as whatever, with no pretense. Just hanging out. Over coffee.

Dean pushes the door open to the coffee shop, wincing as all eyes in the quiet place turn his way. He sees Cas sitting toward the other end, back turned toward him. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and makes his way over, slapping on a grin as he rounds the table.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, plopping down in the opposite chair. Castiel looks almost surprised to see him, blue eyes round and apologetic. Dean can hear the stumbling apology before Cas has a chance to say anything, so he holds up a hand. “Whoa, buddy. Can we call a truce?”

Castiel stares at him, mouth still slightly agape. Dean laughs, leaning over to press his fingers under Cas' jaw to shut it. Color rises to Castiel's cheeks but he smiles, nodding.

“Of course, Dean. Truce.”

“Great, clean slate, starting new,” Dean says, sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Castiel laughs and clasps Dean's hand in his. “Likewise.”

Dean lingers maybe a bit too long, he wasn't lying earlier when he told Sam that Cas had nice hands. He lets his index finger slide along Castiel's palm as he pulls back, just slightly suggestive, and he tries not to smile when Cas yanks his hands back and tucks them into his lap politely.

“I got you a coffee,” Castiel says, nodding toward the second cup on the table. “It's a black cherry mocha with extra whipped cream. Although, I don't know how much whipped cream is left, it may have melted while I sat here. I got here kind of early. I suppose I should have consulted you first.”

“You kiddin'?” Dean says, wide-eyed, and takes a swig of the coffee. “Fucking delicious. Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel gives a small, pleased shrug.

“So, tell me about being dumped,” Dean says tactfully, wiping some whipped cream off his top lip. Dean notices Cas track the movement subtly.

“I, ah, it wasn't too bad. Jeff basically told me he was looking for something a little more permanent, and I wasn't going to fulfill that for him.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Not looking for anything permanent, Cas? I'd think that'd be right up your alley.”

Castiel laughs, nodding minutely. “I suppose you're right.”

“So, what, he just didn't want permanence with _you?_ ” Dean ventures, trying to sound casual. He's still feeling a little angry and still doesn't quite know the source and is fine with that, thank you.

“Ah, no,” Cas says, dipping his neck. “It was more about me not wanting long-term with him.”

Dean's expression darkens. “You told me he dumped you.”

“He did!” Cas says hastily, “and I wasn't expecting it. He just noticed that my heart wasn't in it, I suppose.”

Dean allows himself not to glower, offering Cas what he hopes is a neutral smile. “Well, he fucked up, then.”

“Thank you, Dean. So.” He takes a sip of his watered down coffee, and Dean cringes in sympathy. “It’s just you and Sam?” He asks it gently, tracing the edge of his cup with his fingers. Dean bristles, naturally, not fully prepared to vomit his personal life all over the cafe table. Cas probably notices his total freakout, because he holds his hands up defensively. “Sorry. Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me.”

“Cat people,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. Castiel laughs, shoulders shaking with it, and Dean chalks it up as a win. He talks himself into relaxing, taking a gulp of his sugary coffee.

“It’s cool. Sammy and I live alone,” he explains, knee bouncing with the jitters.

“My father died recently,” Cas offers, like, out of nowhere, and Dean’s leg stops bouncing. “He used to live above the shelter. Gabriel and I took over.”

“So you’ve lived there your whole life?” Dean asks incredulously. Cas nods, a hand carding through his hair.

“It’s all I know,” he laughs, not an ounce of bitterness in his tone.

“Did you ever want to do anything else?” Dean presses and notices he’s leaned forward, arms crossed on the table, like he’s hanging on every word that’s coming out of Castiel’s mouth. He forces himself not to lean back.

Cas does Dean the courtesy of considering his question, but he predictably shakes his head. “It’s what I’m here for,” he says, sounding happy, looking happy. Y’know. Happily. Dean just sighs.

“I don’t think I’m here for anything,” he mumbles, and notes the way Cas’ eyebrows knit. “No, just, knock it off.” Cas struggles to put a more neutral expression on his face, and it’s so fucking cute and desperate that it wrings a laugh out of Dean. “Our mom died when we were kids. Sammy never knew her, but I did. Long enough to miss her.”  
Cas opens his mouth, no doubt to gush sympathy until Dean can’t stand it anymore, so Dean just ploughs on. “Dad died when I was eighteen. I took custody of Sam and got a job. Now he’s a big shot doctor and ten years later, I’m in the same place.”

He’s never said it aloud before. Jesus, that’s depressing.

“Am I allowed to talk yet?” Cas asks, snapping Dean out of his reverie. He stills his jaw.

“No,” he says petulantly. Cas holds his hands up and gestures for Dean to continue, but Dean has nothing to say. He tries to search for something to no possible avail. He’s at a complete loss. Panicking, desperately, he blurts out, “I’m not gay.”

Castiel blinks once, but makes no move to speak.

“I mean,” Dean starts again, “not really. I’ve never, y’know, you were the first dude I, well, I didn’t have much to do with it, it was really your fault, and you- pushed me-”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, sharp.

“Right,” Dean mumbles, grateful that Cas decided to speak. “I just mean, I’m new to all this… this,” he gestures lamely between them. Castiel’s expression is somewhere between amusement, nervousness, and something Dean pegs vainly as arousal.

“So, there is a ‘this’?” Cas asks after a moment, and Dean blanches.

“I guess,” he admits. “I mean, duh, yes,” he says more firmly. “Hell, I’ve been practically eating bon-bons and crying myself to sleep while you were dating Hunkules and there you were all single and available, and shit, you didn’t say anything. Until now. What gives?”

Castiel shrugs one of his shoulders, taking a too-long sip of coffee. “You didn’t like hearing about him.”

Dean laughs, slapping his palm down loudly on the table. “You’re right. I didn’t. Because I wanted that to be me.”

A silence descends across their table, and Dean tries desperately not to look uncomfortable which probably results in making him look more uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his head, meeting Castiel's eyes, and something in him snaps. The exhaustion of trying so hard, the pressure of having to be this, or wishing he was that, just crash down on him all at once and he's suddenly giving Cas the most suggestive, heated stare he's ever laid on a living soul.

“We should get out of here,” he suggests, keeping his tone light, and Castiel nods a little too aggressively.

They end up back at the shelter after a very quiet and very intense walk. Many quick, barely there glances, a few private chuckles, some awkward small talk. When Cas pushes in the door, Gabriel pushes out.  
“Oh, thank God you're back, I have somewhere to be like right this second, dogs are taken care of, paperwork's done, just set that alarm. Ta-ta,” he spouts in a whirlwind while Castiel glares at the back of his head. Dean laughs, though, which eases the tension out of Cas' shoulders.

It's quiet in the shelter, the dogs content and panting. Castiel types the alarm code in while Dean waits, leaning up against the counter, heartbeat loud enough to deafen neighboring businesses. He's surprised Castiel hasn't commented on it. Cas turns toward him, shy, keeping his distance.

“Cas,” is all he says, and Castiel's eyes go wide as saucers. Cas licks his lips, leaning forward very softly, almost unnoticeable. Dean smiles, a big one, letting his teeth show.

“Yes, Dean?” He asks, and Dean shakes his head.

“I'm so tired of this. Aren't you tired of this?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Cas has moved forward, standing in Dean's bubble but still being respectful. He's hedging his bets, Dean notes, gratefully. It's not about scaring him off, it's about making sure Dean is comfortable, in his element. He holds Castiel's gaze tautly.

“You wanna do something about it?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says quietly, roughly, and Dean has given up on pretense because that voice has a shiver prickling up his spine. He watches himself put a hand on Cas' chest, and when he looks back to the other man's eyes he sees a million thoughts warring behind them. He makes a pact with himself, in that moment, to make that mind go blank.

He leans forward and closes the distance between them, letting his breath huff across Cas' mouth, then kisses him. It's a little warm, and wet, and Dean finds himself pressed back against the counter by Castiel's entire body. A soft, dry hand is cupping his face, a thumb pressed against his cheekbone, and another has found his shoulder blades.

It's surprisingly not terrifying, Dean thinks, after some fumbling. It's difficult to discern who's leading, perhaps they switch so often that it doesn't even matter. Dean's not used to the brush of stubble or the large hands against him, but he's pliable and receptive in ways he never thought he could be. Oh, God, maybe he is a bottom after all. He accidentally smiles, which causes Cas to pull back, still holding him, and smile too.

“What?” He asks, thumb brushing against Dean's grin.

“Nothing. I was just thinking that I like your hands on me so much that I must want you to fuck me,” Dean says, and once the words have tumbled out of his mouth he desperately wills them to find their way back in. They don't, instead choosing to hang thickly between them and slap a blush onto Dean's face.

“Oh,” Cas says.

“God, Cas, I'm sorry, I don't-” Dean starts, then tips his forehead against Castiel's. “This is kinda new to me, okay? I'm gonna try not to be weird but it's sort of inevitable.”

Cas nudges his nose against Dean's cheek, pressing kisses down to his neck. “That wasn't exactly a weird thing to say, Dean,” he breathes against Dean's skin. “It was just overwhelming to hear.”

“Why?” Dean asks flatly while Cas pulls aside the green t-shirt to mouth at his shoulder.

“It's a difficult thing to process,” he starts, fingertips pressing at the hem of Dean's shirt, “when someone actually says something you've fantasized about hearing.”

Dean grabs Castiel's shoulders, hauling him back up. “You fantasizin' about me, Cas?” He asks quietly. Castiel rolls his eyes and hauls Dean forward, meeting his mouth with his tongue before his lips. One of his hands fists in Dean's hair, and Dean presses forward, because apparently he likes that.

“Who wouldn't?” He sighs into Dean's mouth, hands roaming his hips and stomach. Dean's breath is coming a little too short, his fear flaring up alongside something new, something burning, something he knows should be familiar but feels so foreign he can't even think about it. He is kissing back with all the fervor he can muster, just trying to keep up with feeling wanted. He pulls at Cas, bringing their hips together, wringing a noise from Cas' throat that he is all about.

“Can we go upstairs, Cas?” Dean asks, and Cas' fingers fist in Dean's shirt. “I wanna go upstairs.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, and he pulls Dean toward the door.

\\\\\

Castiel isn't quite sure what he did to appease a higher power, but judging by the way Dean bodily shoves him up against his door after it's been kicked shut, he figures he must have done something right. He ignores his heart pounding in favor of sliding his hands up the back of Dean's shirt, fingers spanning his skin while Dean presses against him.

Cas tries to remain pliant so as not to overwhelm Dean. Every touch, every breath is important, as he wants to keep Dean comfortable and in control. It's a struggle not to roll his hips forward with Dean pressing in hot, but he manages to keep himself under control. Dean is taking to the position of power, mouthing at Cas' jaw and lower, nuzzling just below his ear.

Dean pulls Castiel's shirt from its tuck, but makes no move to remove it. He fingers the top button, fingertips brushing against Cas' bare collarbone and sending shivers up his spine. The pace isn't exactly what Cas is used to, but he allows Dean to take his time.

“Cas,” Dean sighs against his skin, and Castiel tries not to lose balance. Dean's words are throaty and quiet, mumbled warmly into his neck. “Cas.”

Castiel can feel that Dean is growing harder against his thigh, and he can't resist rubbing his leg against it. Dean surges forward to kiss him, a lovely sound lost into Cas' mouth, which Cas can't regret too much because he can feel the vibration down to his toes. He kisses back, sliding his tongue alongside Dean's and letting him minutely thrust against his leg.

Heat is prickling along his skin, trailing wherever Dean's fingertips press and pull. Cas opens his eyes, pulling back from the kiss, and meets Dean's. They're half-lidded and clouded, confusion swirling behind his expression. Cas smiles, pecking Dean's lips chastely, almost forgetting about their slotted hips.

“Do you want to...?” Cas leads, clearing his throat, and Dean just listens. “You know.”

It takes Dean a moment to process what Castiel is getting at. “Oh,” he finally says. “Uh, yeah. I mean, if you want to.”

“I want to,” Cas confirms, kissing Dean's nerves away. He slides his hands down Dean's bare arms, encircling his wrists with his fingers. “This way.” He starts off toward the bedroom, gently leading, and Dean follows with a heated stare at the back of Cas' head. Cas can feel it, nearly piercing, and he shivers under its intensity.

Cas' bedroom is as bare and organized as the rest of his life, and he feels as if it could use some mussing up. He walks backward, toward the bed, still leading Dean, and hesitates when he hits the mattress. Dean is close, unsure, and Cas gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile before he falls back, pulling Dean on top of him.

It takes them a moment to situate themselves, Dean pressing Cas into the mattress and kissing the hell out of him while Cas tries to spread his legs to give Dean a comfortable place to settle. Dean is squirming against him, unable to rest comfortably, and Cas tries not to like it as much as he does. His hands fall to Dean's ass, squeezing him through his jeans.

Dean hums into Cas' mouth, hips rolling forward, and Cas thrusts back up against him. The grind is slow and hot, arrhythmic, and Dean has his hands all over Cas' chest under his shirt. He pulls back, breaths coming fast, and gives Castiel kind of a lost look.

Cas cups Dean's face, sliding his fingers through his mussed hair, tugging a little. Dean's eyes flutter in what Cas guesses is against his own will and Cas silently congratulates himself. They watch each other for a moment, Cas' leg hooked around Dean's hip, heat reverberating between them, the next step hanging heavy in the air.

“Cas,” Dean says, soft, edged. “I think- uh, I think I know what you're trying to do. And I get it, but, like... do you think you could take the reins on this one?”

Something spikes hot in Castiel's gut, and he bites his lip to keep an embarrassing sound from escaping. Dean obviously doesn't know what to do, and Cas is more than willing to show him a thing or three. He presses his tongue hot against Dean's neck, closing his lips and sucking softly. Dean sighs, hand pressed against Cas' chest.

“You want me to take care of you, Dean?” Cas murmurs, sliding a hand down Dean's stomach and cupping his erection, fingers pressing along it and drawing a sharp intake of air from Dean's lungs. Dean just meets his eyes, his gaze huge and curious, and nods silently. Cas pushes at Dean until their positions switch, Dean underneath him while Cas straddles his hips. “First thing's first.”

He pulls Dean's shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside. He moves his fingers down Dean's bare stomach, rocking his hips against him, trying to keep himself together. Dean looks flushed and turned on and a little scared, right up Castiel's alley. Castiel thumbs at Dean's nipples, and Dean scrunches his face up in what Castiel happily accepts as pleasure.

“You're gorgeous,” Cas sighs into Dean, who rolls his eyes.

“You turned this previously straight man gay, remember? Don't sell yourself short.” Dean grins, and Cas just wants to kiss it off his face, so he does. Dean wraps his arms around Cas' shoulders and kisses back deeply, allowing Cas to stroke up his hips and chest, letting his lips fall in erratic patterns on his chest and neck.

Somewhere, at some point, Cas' shirt disappears and Dean's jeans are shoved halfway down his thighs, enough that Cas has a hand in his boxers and is slowly stroking him. Dean's lips have found Cas' throat, and he seems to love groaning into it, panting at Cas' tight grip on his dick.

“Is this clothes-on thing important to you?” Dean asks breathlessly, hips rolling into Castiel's hand, and Cas chuckles.

“That depends, what's it doing for you?” He asks, rubbing his thumb over the head of Dean's cock.

“Jesus,” Dean moans, hips jerking forward.

Cas cuts him off by taking his bottom lip between his teeth, letting his tongue drag across it. Dean shuts up, and Cas is still having a hard time believing this is happening. His adrenaline is luckily outweighing his hesitation, and he's pushed forward by the _want_ , the desperation that Dean's quiet moans are instilling in him.

So, Cas drags Dean's pants and boxers off, leaving him naked and vulnerable under Cas' eyes. He's hard, cock flushed and curved upward, drawing Castiel's hand toward it. He runs his fingers through the wetness at the tip, gathering it, sliding it back down Dean's sensitive shaft. Dean's hips roll up, and Cas smiles.

“Did you ever think you'd find yourself here?” He asks, stroking Dean a little more firmly. “With another guy?”

Dean swallows hard, Cas can see his Adam’s apple bob and he leans forward to press his lips against it.

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice gravelly. “I thought of it a few times.”

“Yeah?” Cas asks, scooting backwards on the bed until his face is level with Dean's crotch.

Dean bites his lip, squirming against the sheets. He doesn't really want to keep riding that speed-train to humiliation. He's sure his cheeks are bright red, but he can probably pass it off as being ridiculously turned on. Cas sucks in a deep breath at the silence, and Dean screws his eyes tightly shut.

“Look at me,” Cas says, and it's more of a request than a demand. Dean opens his eyes precariously, biting hard on his bottom lip as Cas presses the flat of his tongue to Dean's cock.

“Oh my God,” Dean squeezes out, trying to close his eyes, but Cas grips his leg.

“Don't shut your eyes,” he says, breath hot and moist over Dean. He closes his lips over the head of Dean's dick, tongue falling heavily against it as he starts to to suck. Dean clearly struggles but manages to keep his eyes on Cas, watching him swallow further down.

“Fuck,” Dean grits out, fingers threading into Cas' hair, and Cas leans into the touch. He takes a breath and opens his throat further, taking Dean down, his hands tight against Dean's hips to keep him from bucking forward. Dean tries, of course, soft noises falling from his lips, but Cas holds him still as he pulls off, and dips down, setting a quick enough pace that Dean's legs spread further, trying to give Cas more room. Cas moans at the gesture, his fingers pressing behind Dean's balls, encouraging.

Castiel pulls off, lapping at the tip of Dean's dick, curling a hand around his shaft to pump him while he teases the very tip. “Okay?” Cas asks hoarsely, spare hand crawling tentatively further behind Dean, tickling his perineum.

Dean's fingers rake hard through Castiel's hair. He catches Cas' gaze and rolls his eyes, nodding enthusiastically, head falling back against the sheets while his legs fall further apart. Castiel laughs against Dean's thigh, pressing a kiss there.

Dean is much more encouraging than Cas could have ever expected. Castiel smiles, wetly enveloping Dean's cock in his mouth, sucking hard, desperate to bring those sounds out of Dean again. He partially succeeds, as Dean moans his name, pressing his thumb against Cas' cheek and letting himself tremble with the urge to thrust forward.

Dean pants, and after a minute of methodical up-and-down thrusts, Cas pulls off of him, sliding up Dean's body to kiss him thoroughly. Dean shoves his tongue in Cas' mouth, drawing his taste away, hot desperation seizing his limbs.

“Dean, I need-” Cas starts, but can't finish.

“Yeah, I need, too,” Dean says, his perpetual smirk in action, rolling his hips forward at Cas. “I assume you-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cas interrupts against Dean's collarbone, fumbling against the bedside table. He pulls back a bottle of lube that Dean decidedly does not ask about, for which Cas is eternally grateful, and he squeezes a good amount onto his hand.

Castiel takes a moment to panic, warming the lube between his fingers, hoping he's what Dean needs, what Dean wants. Dean is looking up at him with such intense trust, legs lazily apart, this man who has no idea how desperate Cas is in his hands. Cas moves his wet fingers down the crease of Dean's ass, and Dean catches Cas' gaze, parting his lips.

“Cas,” he says. “Are you gonna take your pants off?”

Castiel can't help but laugh, drawing his fingers away from Dean's skin to start tugging his own pants down. The idea that Dean might be stalling drifts across Cas' clouded consciousness, and once he's naked, he doesn't dive back in. Dean glares at him, but Cas presses his fingers into Dean's hips, smearing the slick lube across his skin.

Cas pauses, hesitating, searching Dean's face for permission, acceptance. Dean narrows his eyes.

“Really?” Dean asks flatly.

“Really,” Cas confirms, and Dean stills. Cas thinks for a moment he may have made a misstep, but Dean's hot hands smooth up his chest, neck, until his cupping his cheeks.

“Cas,” Dean says, pulling him close to kiss him. He brings one hand down to wrap his fingers around Cas' cock, carefully jerking him off, and Cas pulls away from the kiss because he can't do anything but watch. His lips part in a moan, which spurs Dean further, causing him to close his fingers more tightly and move his hand more quickly. “How's that?”

Cas watches breathlessly, eyes locked on Dean's hand. Dean smiles and Cas can't resist him, slick fingers are pushing between Dean's legs again, teasing at him, pressing against his ass while Dean strokes him.

Dean mumbles back, pushing back against Cas' touch. “Okay, I'm done with this sensitive, romantic shit. Fuck me.”

Cas' forehead falls sharply against Dean's, and pain sparks behind both their eyes'. “You can't just say things like that, Dean.”

“Says who?” Dean shoots back. Castiel shakes his head and presses one finger into Dean, who falls silent, brows pulled together in concentration. He doesn't still, though, his hips pushing down to take Cas deeper into him.

Cas watches a steady blush spill across Dean's cheeks. He is still slowly thrusting into Dean's hand, which has become a much looser circle of fingers, but Castiel is certainly not complaining as Dean bites on his bottom lip.

Dean shifts his body down, legs spreading further. "Fuck me."

“Stop,” Cas laughs, pressing his mouth against Dean's neck, kissing up his throat to his jaw, and taking his lips. He puts a second finger in, bringing the two in and out, sliding sweetly inside Dean.

“No,” Dean says to Cas' lips, thrusting back on his fingers. “C'mon, Cas.”

“I am,” Cas grins, crooking his fingers, pressing against Dean's prostate and dragging them out. Dean lets out a long sigh, wriggling his hips toward Cas' touch, which Cas allows.

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas pulls his fingers out to tease at Dean's rim. Cas winks cheekily, and Dean _growls_ , grabbing at Castiel's shoulders.

“If you don't stop fucking teasing me I'm going to pin you down and ride you,” Dean snarls, gripping Cas' cock, and heat blankets Cas until all he feels is deep affection, attraction. He leans forward and tucks his face against Dean's throat, fitting himself between Dean's legs. Cas laughs against Dean's cheek, his hard cock sliding in the perfect crease of Dean's ass.

“Fuck's sake,” Dean snaps, and Castiel squeezes his hips, pushing his fingers back in, stretching Dean steadily and carefully. Dean huffs impatiently, busying himself with kissing Cas while he works. His breath catches as Cas strokes his prostate, and he nuzzles down against him.

Cas smiles and pulls his hands away, hiking Dean's hips up."Might be easier for you if you lay on your stomach," Cas says gently.

Heat flares up in Dean's eyes, as if he's just now realizing where this is going. "Someday you can fuck me face down into the mattress, all right?" He promises, and Cas groans, head falling to Dean's chest as his hips give a sharp thrust forward. Dean tilts Cas' head up, giving him a filthy kiss while bringing his legs up to wrap around Cas' waist.

Cas shakes his head sharply, warding off the implication lest he lose his mind and come all over Dean's thighs. Dean laughs again, languidly rolling his hips, and Cas is blindly groping for a condom and the lube, applying them while Dean sucks red marks onto his chest, encouraging him quietly, assuring Cas he's ready.

Cas presses against him, watching as he sinks inside, slowly, carefully. Dean is flushed and focused, breathing deeply, experimentally squeezing around Castiel.

"Shit, don't," Cas chastises gently, a hand against Dean's stomach.

Dean shrugs noncommittally, but Cas sees the glimmer in his hooded eyes. He just keeps pushing, allowing Dean time to accommodate, hand encircling Dean's cock and jerking him off slowly.

"Cas," Dean moans, his voice deep and rough. It takes all Cas has not to start fucking him in earnest, instead choosing to lick a line up Dean's neck. Dean's hands are spanning his shoulder blades, pressing between them, fingertips sliding against his slick skin. Cas buries his face into Dean's skin, letting a pleased sound fall from his lips. "You like that?" Dean asks, hands pressing more insistently into Cas' back.

"Mmmm," is Castiel's reply, and he starts shallowly thrusting in and out of Dean's body, taking him further each time in. He's pushing Dean's knees up, spreading him, spurred on by Dean's hands rubbing and squeezing at his back, dull fingernails pressing into his skin.

Dean moans shallowly and Castiel finds his mouth, tonguing at his lips until he delves in, hips picking up a decent rhythm. He notes in the back of his fuzzy mind that Dean is pushing back against him, meeting him, and Castiel pulls back to look while keeping his hips moving.

Dean is panting, breaths coming in short little spurts, hands tightly gripping Cas' forearms. His skin is reddened from Castiel's hands and lips, cheeks pink and flushed, lips parted and wet. When Cas meets his eyes he smiles, raising his eyebrows, and Castiel bites down on a laugh.

"Jesus Christ, Dean," he moans, running his fingers from Dean's lips to his cheekbone to his earlobe, cupping his jaw, and Dean leans into it. "How's it feel?"

"Fuck," Dean grits out, "fuck, I dunno. Great. Weird."

Cas chuckles, picking up his pace a little, testing the waters. Dean's head falls back, pressing into the pillow, and he makes a sound that goes right to Cas' dick. "God, Dean."

"Yeah, Cas," Dean sighs encouragingly, "anything you want. Fuck. Can't believe we waited so long for this."

Cas kisses Dean messily, pulling him closer, wrapping himself up in the endless heat rolling off his body. He grins and drops Dean back to the mattress, leaning back and yanking Dean's hips up. Dean yelps ungracefully, but that quickly devolves into a broken moan as Cas thrusts readily into him, quick and deep. Dean's hands are fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, and Cas can feel his vision blurring at the edges.

"Shit, Cas, yeah," Dean says through clenched teeth, "yeah, that feels fucking awesome."

Cas slides one hand off Dean's hips to grip his cock, stroking him fast against his rhythm. Dean's head lolls to the side, cheek pressing against the undoubtedly damp sheets. His legs hook around Castiel's back and he pushes up hard, nearly knocking Cas back.

"You love this," Cas murmurs, and Dean cracks an eye open to glare at him, but there's no anger behind it. Castiel gives him a few more quick thrusts before dropping his hips, leaning down over Dean and slowing to a languid roll. He presses his mouth against Dean's neck, and up to his ear where he rests his lips. "Say it."

"C'mon, Cas," Dean whines, but he's shivering against Cas' mouth. "I already-"

Cas noses under Dean's earlobe, sucking a patch of skin while he stills his hips. He slowly slides his hands up Dean's stomach, over his chest, and back down again while keeping perfectly still, resting heavy and hot inside of Dean. Dean can only glare affectionately while Cas sucks on his neck. Cas stays still, murmuring against Dean's salty skin, pinching his side. Dean jerks away, grunting, a hand coming to rest on the back of Castiel's head.

"Fine," he mutters, trying harder to roll his hips against Castiel's. "You're so fucking hot, Cas, Jesus. Look at me, I'm a goddamn mess."

Cas laughs and begins moving again, slowly, shallowly. "More.”

Dean shakes his head, blinking tightly, no longer able to form a coherent phrase. He murmurs a slew of nonsense sounds, ignoring Castiel's grin, while he ups his pace again. Dean can't muster the indignance, instead opting to moan a little, rubbing Castiel's hips.

"More," Dean echoes, and Cas loses it. He starts jerking Dean off with vigor, matching the speed of his hips, driving Dean further and further toward the edge. Cas can feel his orgasm creeping down his spine, and judging by his noises and the curl of his toes, Dean can't be too far behind him. Dean is writhing, hands pressing and stroking whatever skin he can find, and it's all Cas can do to keep from shouting.

"Dean," he growls, one hand sliding into Dean's hair and tugging. Dean just nods, eyes bright and wide, pressing his heel into the small of Castiel's back. Cas squeezes Dean's cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip and slicking his way before Dean shoves his hand away to take over. Castiel bites his lip, watching Dean touch himself while Cas fucks him.

"'M'gonna come, Cas," Dean says, and that's about it for him. Castiel leans in for a kiss, keeping his hips moving, swallowing Dean's pants and sighs. He feels Dean's muscles tense and hears his name fall from Dean's mouth, all wrecked and hoarse.

Cas stills as Dean comes, hot and wet between them, slicking up his stomach and hand. Dean collapses back, chest heaving, leg twitching slightly against Cas' hip. Castiel remembers himself and moves to pull away, but Dean's ankle presses into Cas' back.

"Where d'you think you're going," he slurs, legs falling lazily apart. "You're not done yet."

Castiel hesitates for exactly one second before pushing Dean down by his shoulders and fucking him, hard, just moments away from his orgasm. Dean takes it beautifully, pressing against Cas' shoulder blades, right into that spot he found earlier that has Cas keening and gripping him just this side of too hard.

Dean breathes hot, fire spilling from his fingertips as they drag along Cas' damp skin. Castiel meets his eyes. Pleasure crawls down his spine, that pull in his gut flaring and blanking the edges of Cas' vision.

"Dean," he musters, and Dean is grinning at him.

"Yeah, s'right, Cas. Come for me," he says, and Castiel does.

\\\\\

When Cas returns from the bathroom, he peeks around the door into his bedroom. He takes a mental picture of Dean, hair sticking in all directions, bare chest peppered with red marks, lips red and ravaged. He's sitting up, back against the headboard, sheets draped across his lap.

“Hey,” Cas says as he comes in, and Dean gives him a two fingered wave, lips quirked up. Cas slides into bed, pressing a warm, wet cloth to Dean's chest. Dean takes it gratefully, wiping himself off as Cas watches.

“So,” Dean starts, dropping the cloth on the side table. “Gay sex is awesome. Who knew?”

Cas considers this. “Like, a ton of people.”

“Guess I'm slow on the uptake,” Dean sighs, resigned, and Cas presses his fingers against the red marks on Dean's neck.

“You caught on pretty quickly,” Cas says in a mock-comforting tone, patting Dean's chest. Dean tips Cas' head up by his jaw and kisses him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and tugging him close.

“So, I'm lovin' this afterglow thing and all, but I should actually get home,” Dean says. Cas groans in protest and wriggles closer to Dean's warm body.“Cas. I gotta take Anna out, and I have work in the morning. If I stay here I won't get any sleep.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, untangling himself from Dean. “Fine, Mr. Responsibility. But if I don't see you for two weeks again, I'm going to be pissed.”

Dean laughs, sliding off the bed to get dressed. “Not sure I could stay away if I wanted to, man.” He winces a little as he stands, and Cas whistles in sympathy. “Damn, dude, I'm fucking sore.”

“Sorry,” Cas offers with a half-shrug.

Dean buttons his jeans and leans down to press his lips against Cas' ear. “S'ok, it's a nice reminder,” he whispers, and Castiel is struck dumb. Dean smiles and pecks Castiel's lips, grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Don't you have to walk me down? Lock up behind me?”

Cas stares at him. “I can't move. You've killed me.”

“Don't be so dramatic.”

\\\\\

The first few weeks pass normally, which surprises Cas a little. He had thought Dean would take a little more time getting used to dating a man, but he's taken to it in a big way. They meet less frequently but for longer periods of time. Dean struggles with being in a relationship, Cas struggles with coming off of a six-month relationship, but they manage to be disgusting enough to annoy the shit out of Gabriel whenever they occupy the same room for more than five minutes.

Cas has caught onto Dean's distinct lack of taste for public affection, as he often shies away from Cas' fingertips or backs out of his personal space. Though there's a small part of him that this upsets, Dean can hardly be alone with Cas for a few minutes before pressing into, onto, or against him. Cas is ready to forgive when Dean is straddling his lap on the couch in the privacy of his apartment, rolling his hips down and puffing hot air onto his neck.

Dean usually shows up at the shelter around six, letting Cas pass the reins to Gabriel as they disappear upstairs to learn about each other. Cas shows Dean Memento, and Dean shows Cas Goodfellas, and they make out through Fast and the Furious 2.

Sometimes they read, or eat Chinese food, or drink. Sometimes they just talk. Dean is sharper than he gives himself credit for; Cas has noticed his empathetic observations about character motivations and structure, and he's always reading something about engines and cars which fly miles over Castiel's head.

“Do you want to have dinner with me and Sam tomorrow?” Dean asks into the silence in the living room, and Cas glances up from his book. Dean is on the loveseat, thumbing through a car magazine, still in his work jumpsuit.

“At your apartment?” Cas asks carefully, trying to keep his voice measured.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs. “You haven't been there yet and we're always ordering take-out- I thought- I dunno-”

“No, yes, of course!” Cas says hurriedly, putting his book down. “Are you going to cook?”

Dean laughs loudly, tilting his head back. Cas resists a smile. “Hell, no. I can't boil water without burning it. Sam wants to make some chicken and rice thing.”

“Wow. A nurse who can cook? Maybe I picked the wrong brother.”

“Probably,” Dean sighs. “He's the real catch of the Winchester family.”

“I wish you would have told me earlier,” Cas says, admonishing. “I wouldn't have wasted my time.”

“It's not too late,” Dean offers. “This probably isn't going anywhere, anyway. I'm just using you to get to Gabriel.”

“I was worried about that,” says Cas as he watches Dean rise from the armchair. Dean points toward the door and tosses his magazine down onto the coffee table.

“I'm just gonna take off, then.”

“Okay.”

But as Dean scoots past the couch, Castiel trips him and pulls him down on top of him. After letting out an unceremonious squawk, Dean gathers himself and levels a glare at Castiel. “You fight dirty.”

Cas shrugs, tangling his legs with Dean's and letting his fingers rest tight at the small of Dean's back. “You give good head for a straight boy.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “All right, let me up, ya bully. I gotta head out and give Sam the good news. Not to mention take Anna out.”

“Fine,” Cas grumbles, loosening his grip. Dean doesn't go upright immediately though, taking a moment to nose at Cas' cheek and kiss him, one hand pressed to the side of Castiel's neck. Cas sighs into it, letting a hand slowly trail down Dean's arm. “Sick of watching you go.”

Dean grins. “I seem to remember you being the one thinking I wasn't responsible enough to own a dog,” he says. “If only you'd known I'd ditch my boyfriend every day because I am _too_ responsible.”

Cas tries not to let his chest swell at the word 'boyfriend,' instead choosing to shove Dean off of him. “Sure, sure. You're allowed to throw that in my face exactly three more times. Then we're even.”

“Deal,” Dean says, straightening his jumpsuit as he clambers to his feet. “Tomorrow night, my place. Wear your best dress.” Cas throws a couch pillow at his retreating back.

///

The next day, Dean is lounging in the living room and trying his damnedest to stay out of his own head. He's not _nervous,_ it's just dinner with Cas, he's more apprehensive of Sam's involvement in the whole thing. He bites his lip, glancing up at Sam bustling around their kitchen. “Dude, should I get you an apron for Christmas?”

Sam flips him off over his shoulder, sprinkling some black pepper into his wine sauce. “A new set of knives would be nice.”

“On my salary, I will be happy to purchase you a brand new oven mitt.”

“Great,” Sam says sarcastically. Dean comes up behind his brother, sticking his finger into the white sauce and tasting it. “Hey!”

“Could use a little more paprika,” he says sagely. Sam rolls his eyes and shakes in a few pinches, then bodily maneuvers his brother out of the way.

“If you and Cas got me a joint gift, you could get me knives,” Sam says offhandedly, peeking at his rice. Dean tries not to balk.

“Dude. Christmas is like, five months from now. Cas and I have been dating for like, a week.”

“Three,” Sam points out. “Whatever, Dean, it was just a suggestion.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean grumbles, “don't go saying stuff like that around him. You don't want to freak the guy out.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Sure. Wouldn't want to give him the impression you like him or anything. You're so fucked up.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, “I don't see you swimming on the 'long-term commitment' side of the pool.”

“Workin' on it,” Sam mutters. Dean grins at him, opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by their door buzzer. Sam clicks his tongue. “Go get it, I have to watch the chicken.”

In the living room, Dean presses down on the intercom button. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas' low voice permeates the speaker. Dean makes a mental note to ask Cas about phone sex in the future, that's a gift that can't go underutilized. Dean buzzes him in, taking another fruitless glance around the apartment. The timid knock at the door certainly does _not_ make him jump.

He pulls it open, and Cas stands there in a blue button up shirt that Dean has never seen before. It's unbuttoned to the collarbone, drawing Dean's eyes like a magnet. He flicks his eyes back up to Cas', raising an eyebrow.

“I know I said to wear your best dress, but I didn't think you'd bring it this hard. I'm under dressed.” Cas smiles and puts a hand on Dean's chest, kissing him hello.

“You look fine,” he breathes, and Dean wants to toss a hasty apology to Sam for skipping dinner and just drag Cas into the bedroom. Instead, he lets Cas into the living room, sweeping his arm around.

“Well, welcome,” he says, coughing a little as Castiel's eyes sweep over the place, taking it in. Anna comes barreling out of Dean's room, rocketing happily toward Cas, who barely catches her before she bowls him over.

“Hey, girl!” He says, kneeling down to scratch her ears through her wriggling.

“Shhh, Anna,” Dean admonishes affectionately, and Anna stills, panting, brimming with excitement but containing it. Cas lets out a small noise of approval that Dean allows to go straight to his ego.

Before Dean can open his mouth and brag, show off Anna’s high-five trick and how she knows some Spanish, his nose twitches. He turns suspiciously over to the kitchen, where a thin line of smoke is seeping out the door.

“Sam?” He calls out experimentally as Cas straightens up, brows knit with concern.

“Dean, I think-” He starts, but is sharply interrupted by the screech of their fire alarm.

“Shit,” he hears from the kitchen, and suddenly a lot more smoke starts billowing through the doorframe. “Dean!” Sam’s voice is laced with fear and Dean’s in the kitchen before he even has a chance to think about it.

Dean is bursts into the kitchen, an arm over his eyes to protect them from the smoke that’s now pouring from the oven. Flames burn low within it; whatever Sam had been cooking now entirely engulfed.

Sam is stumbling back, coughing, waving his oven mitt in a vain attempt to clear the room. The fire bursts, flames creeping across the grease across the front of the often door and stretching higher. The smoke alarm rips through the haze and Dean is grabbing Sam’s shirt, dragging him toward the door.

“No, I can put it out,” Sam wheezes, but his voice is thick with smoke inhalation. Dean stares at him incredulously but continues yanking at him.

“Get out of here, you idiot,” Dean growls as he shoves at Sam’s back, “and get Cas and Anna out.”

Sam hesitates long enough that Dean plants a foot against the small of his back and kicks him hard, making him stumble out the kitchen door. “Hurry!” Dean shouts, voice wrought with urgency, “this gets any bigger and it’ll hit the-”

_Gas line_ , is what he would have said, had the fire not reached it first.

The explosion knocks Dean on his ass, hard, the linoleum under his cheek melting under the unbearable heat. It cuts into his skin like knives, flicking up his cheeks and stuttering hot into his lungs. His right leg is throbbing with pain, and a cursory glance rewards him with the undeniable fact that it is incredibly fucking broken.

Dean doubles over and coughs, arms crossed against his clenched stomach as he tries to clear his watering eyes. The pain in his leg actually subsides, leaving him with only the sense of heat on his face, glass in his skin.

“Sam?” He attempts, but all he can hear is the fire, roaring immeasurably loud in his ears. “Sam! Cas,” he groans, pitiful, sweltering and tired. He digs his hands into the curling tile of the floor and drags himself in what he hopes is the direction of the living room, mind just swirling around in repeated lines. _Sam,_ it says, _Cas._ The gas line pipes up through their walls, if it catches fire then - _Cas. Sam._ He could call the fire department. _Sam._ He thinks his cell phone has melted in his pocket, if the - _why am I bleeding?_

The incessant beeping of the fire alarm is so _fucking_ annoying. Dean grumbles, his fingers maybe hitting carpet. He’s not sure. He mostly just feels cold, which he manages to find the irony in. He wonders if those stories about dogs, the ones where they manage to use their instincts to escape house fires, are real. Anna will get out. She’s a good dog. Cas will take care of her. _What’s that smell?_

Dean manages to open his eyes, just for a second, and shuts them tight and fast against the wall of fire in front of him. _Ow_ , he thinks mildly, then feels sensation roar back into his leg. He spits out a curse, surrounded by a bubble of laughter. He was actually _on. Fire._

Kicking his leg proves fruitless and _painful_ and Dean is just tired, now. He clenches his eyes shut and wills it to rain in the living room, just pour, thunder and all. Just as he thinks he feels a drop across his cheek, he slips unconscious.

///

Castiel decides that sleeping in a hospital chair would probably be torture in the first circle of hell.

He straightens up and stretches the kinks out of his neck, looking imploringly at the nurse behind the counter. She pretends not to see him, shuffling through some papers and glancing at the clock. Castiel sighs impatiently and rubs a hand down his weary face.

The waiting room smells stale and sterile. It might smell stale because Cas has been there for three days, sleeping under a jacket Gabriel had brought for him after hour six.

Sam was discharged first; his only symptoms were mild smoke inhalation and a few light burns on his hands. The gas line hadn’t been hit until they were out the door, Anna in tow. Sam attempted to barrel back into the apartment, but between Cas holding him back and the fire against the doorway, he was forced to wait for the professionals.

The next few hours were tough to remember. There were ambulances and Sam yelling - Castiel remembered thinking he was _terrifying_ \- wet shock blankets, respirators. Anna struggled against his hold, whined, tried to dive back into the building and help.

A lot of time passed between then and when the gurney wheeled out of the door, directed by two firemen with scorches on their uniforms. Sam was trying to push forward through the barricade, Castiel remembered, but Dean’s face was uncovered. He had a mask over his mouth and the firemen were hurrying; he was alive.

Castiel stands up from his makeshift bed and vainly attempts to straighten his clothes just as Sam rounds the corner. He looks up to him expectantly, especially encouraged by Sam’s small smile.

“He’s awake,” Castiel guesses, and Sam nods affirmation. Cas slumps with relief, adrenaline tingling at the tips of his fingers. “Can I see him?”

“Yeah,” Sam smiles, “he asked for you. Take everything he says with a grain of salt, though, he’s pretty hopped up on painkillers.” Sam leads him to the room and actually has to give Castiel a little push to open the door.

Dean is hooked up to several machines, arms and legs bandaged and laying stiffly at his sides. There are wraps around his head, over one side of his face, exposing only one green eye and a sore, puffy lip. He blinks blearily as Cas walks in, lip twitching up into a half smile.

“Don’t look at me,” he mumbles, voice wracked with smoke, “m’dead.”

“You’re not dead,” Castiel says firmly, walking closer to the bed. “You’ve just been to hell and back.”

Dean looks like wants to laugh, but instead he just breathes shallowly. Castiel wants to lay a hand on him. He keeps them to himself, folding them in his lap as he sits in the adjacent chair. Dean doesn’t look nearly as bad as he thought he would.

“Then I’m a zombie,” Dean says seriously.

Castiel grins and shakes his head. “You’re not. You’re alive, and you’re going to be okay. Right?”

Dean considers this. “Sam said I’d have scars,” he admitted softly. “On my face. M’leg is broken.”

“Your leg will heal,” Cas smiles. “And the scars will look rugged.”

 

“Knew it,” Dean accuses. His voice is sleepy and muddled and Castiel isn’t sure he could find it any more endearing than he already does. “You got a thing for tough guys.” He coughs a little, then, his body seizing in what looks like immeasurable pain. He collapses back down onto the pillow, wincing, and looking utterly miserable.

Castiel reaches out, then, and puts a hand over Dean’s tentatively. “I do,” he agreed.

“Where are me’n Sam going to live?” Dean asks the ceiling.

Cas just chuckles. “It’s a good thing you like dogs.”

///

Dean is discharged three weeks later. Pills rattle in his pockets as he makes his way down the sidewalk, careful to avoid any wayward patches of ice. His leg is still firmly in a cast, crutches tucked under his arms as he clumsily pushes the door to the shelter open.

Warmth rolls over him instantly. The smell of the dogs and pine and poinsettia hit him like a sledgehammer; he hadn’t smelled anything efficiently in weeks. There are little Christmas lights lining the windows, giving off a soft glow even in the light of day.

Dean jumps as Anna trots up to him out of nowhere, butt wriggling with massive excitement, but careful not to get to close. Dean wants desperately to be able to kneel and pet and play with her, but his leg just won’t allow it.

“Hello, Dean,” he hears from the doorway, and Castiel is standing there in a fucking sweatervest with reindeer on it and looking absolutely dorky. Dean smiles, but not big, the scars on his face still pulling his skin tight.

“Hey, Cas,” he says. He knows his voice still sounds weird, all rough and low like he’s been gargling nails, but the doctors said that would go away eventually. Anna presses against his good leg and he leans down enough to scratch her ears. “Sorry I’m late.”

Castiel has quickly made his way over, resting his hands on Dean’s chest. “You’re right on time.”

Dean feels something in his chest constrict, eyes dropping to the floor.

“It’s good to see you upright,” he says so sincerely that Dean has to resist flinching. “All of your things - well, everything that survived the fire - it’s all upstairs.”

Dean nods curtly. He hasn’t given himself time to think about all the stuff they lost, the home they had to leave behind. Sam had caught him up on most of it, but their insurance had apparently paid out the wazoo on their behalf. Something about faulty wiring. Something they could sue over. Dean isn’t sure.

“I would have picked you up,” Cas says as they make their way (very slowly) up the stairs. “You didn’t have to be stubborn about it.”

Dean would have shrugged if he had the means, hauling himself up another step. “I had to do it. And I made it, right?” Cas sighs and stays silent as he pulls Dean into the apartment.

There are lots of boxes; more than Dean expected. They’re even all labeled and organized. His eyes are wide as he scans them; he hadn’t realized his entire life could fit into this living room. He looks over to Cas, who’s resting his hand on one labeled Bedding.

“I didn’t take anything out,” he says conversationally. “It will be easier to move them if we don’t have to gather all your things again.”

Dean just stares at him.

“Sam was sleeping on the couch,” Cas goes on, to Dean’s relief, “but he’s staying with Gabriel and Jessica now.”

“Jess, huh?” Dean grins. “Well, way to go, Sammy.” That didn’t take him long at all.

“I’m afraid it’s still unrequited,” Cas tells him while he helps Dean over to the couch. Dean rolls his eyes overdramatically.

“I got this,” he says with a nod. “I’ll make it my personal pet project. In therapy, they told me to get a hobby.” His voice is a little bit flat, and if Castiel notices he doesn’t say anything. Instead he just nods, smile tight, and Dean feels something hook in his gut.

He desperately wants to ignore it, but the way Cas’ eyes won’t stay on his face and how his smile is just chock full of despair Dean can’t ignore. He opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel manages to cut him off with just a small, nearly inaudible sigh.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, and he doesn’t know how Dean’s feeling or what he’s going through or what he’s thinking but somehow Dean just believes him.

“Okay,” he agrees as he leans his crutches up against the wall. Mistletoe is hanging and it smells like Cas was warming cider. That bubble of tension surrounding his body just pops and he is hyper aware; it’s Christmas, he’s alive, Cas wants him here.

“I think that’s the easiest time I’ve ever had getting you to agree with me.” Castiel’s voice is all but twinkling with amusement and Dean very suddenly remembers what it’s like to just laugh.

///

“I got it,” Dean says sharply, reaching for the pie in the oven. His leg protests quietly, but it’s getting better. He manages to get it out and rest it on the stovetop just fine, even with Castiel’s mother-henning behind him.

“I just want you to be careful,” Cas pouts, “I spent all day on it.”

The golden brown crust bubbles slightly with butter and cinnamon and Dean kisses Castiel square on the mouth.

///

“Whoo!” Dean pumps his fist in the air and actually manages to keep his balance on his crutches. “Sammy’s getting some!”

Sam hides his face in his hands as Jessica grins broadly at his side.

“We adopted Lucifer,” she says cheerfully.

///

“You’re in love,” Gabriel says, all accusation and disgust, but Castiel just keeps whistling. Anna woofs.

///

Dean slips on the ice sometime in January and bruises his tailbone. During his recuperation, he quickly contracts the flu. Castiel dotes on him harder than the dogs, bringing him ice-packs and hot soup and pressing damp washcloths to his fevered forehead. He kisses Dean despite the hacking cough and somehow never catches it himself, the bastard.

///

Dean teaches Anna to root for the Chiefs just in time for the Superbowl.

///

“Look, Cas,” Dean begins awkwardly, glancing over at the crutches leaning up against the wall. “You’ve been putting up with me for three months, and I appreciate it, I really do.”

Dean’s cardboard boxes still line all the walls of the apartment, sagging from structural failure for the amount of times they’ve been opened, shut, re-opened. His clothes have managed to sneak out; a flannel draped across the back of the couch, his work boots haphazardly strewn near the door, but they wouldn’t take too long to gather.

Cas isn't listening, he’s digging through a box next to the TV, which is stacked with DVDs and some of Dean's vinyl. Dean clears his throat and Castiel whips around to glare at him.

“You _own_ Mean Girls.”

“Uh.”

“You told me it was a, what was it? 'Chick movie.'”

“I told you I'd seen it once or twice,” Dean mutters.

“The DVD case is all worn out!”

“It's funny, all right? Tina Fey wrote it, man! And Lindsay Lohan is hot in it!” Dean protests, crossing his arms firmly over his chest.

His last round of physical therapy was in a week, and Dean was almost fully recovered. Honestly, he wanted to stop a month ago, but Castiel wouldn’t let him. He said that “wasn’t how physical therapy worked.” So, Dean bit the bullet and continued his regimine much to his chagrin.

He was going to have a pretty subtle limp no matter what, and the scars definitely left him a sight for sore eyes. The skin grafts left him with dark patches on his arms and thighs, one stark across his cheek where he’d basically fused with the linoleum floor. Castiel insists they’re sexy, but Dean can’t help but hate them.

“Don't worry, Dean, I still think you're a tough guy,” Cas says soothingly, taking the movie out and putting it on the shelf, and Dean shrugs him off.

“I dunno, man, I think I forfeited that card when I let you stick your dick in me,” he says bitterly. Castiel raises his eyebrows, stepping into Dean's personal space.

“I disagree,” he says very quietly. “I think it's a pretty perfect demonstration of manliness to take it the way you do.”

Dean's brain buzzes a dial-tone, lips parting in surprise. He's searching desperately for a reply when he remembers what he was going to say in the first place. “Oh, right, uh. So, I’ve been looking for an apartment, so I can get out of your hair. I found one kinda close by.”

Castiel pauses with his hands still deep in the cardboard box. “You’re moving out,” he says flatly.

Dean doesn’t really remember ever moving in, not of his own volition. “I guess,” he says carefully. “It’ll be nice to get all my stuff unpacked.”

“Then unpack it here,” Castiel says, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

Dean blinks at him. His tongue trips over all the words he wants to say at once, forcing out a mashup of them all. “What- are you- I can’t-”

Cas waves him off in that way that just screams that he’s got everything under control. Dean’s frown deepens. “Yes, I’m sure, and yes, you can. Stay here. With me.”

There’s a ringing in Dean’s ears but he doesn’t feel like answering. “Okay,” he says kind of loudly. “Yeah, okay. Anna likes it better here anyway. You have the fancy dog food.”

Castiel has straightened up and is right in front of Dean, carding a hand through his hair. Dean very consciously leans into it and raises his eyebrows defiantly. “Oh, don’t do that.”

“What?” He cries indignantly, “you’re the one starting something you can’t finish.”

“Jessica and Sam will be here any second,” Cas replies sourly. “Be patient.”

Dean grumbles and limps gently to the couch, where he flumps down unceremoniously. “Fine. Who’s stupid idea was it to have a double date, anyway?”

“Mine,” Cas calls from the kitchen.

They’d ordered in. Pasta, wine, some garlic buttered lobster and scallops, chicken parmigiana, roasted asparagus. Dean’s stomach growls with anticipation and he leans back over the couch.

“Thanks for not cooking,” he shouts. “I think dinner parties have permanently traumatized me.”

“Never again,” Castiel agrees sagely from the other room. He’s just unpacking all the food onto dishes when the buzzer above the door rings. “I’ll get it.”

“Nope, sit your ass down,” Dean demands. “I’m gonna impress them with all the extensive progress I’ve made. Stairs and all!”

 

Dean takes Castiel’s answering chuckle as permission.

Sam and Jess praise him just enough; the whole way up the stairs is just an endless stream of compliment. Dean jokes that he should get grievously injured more often and Sam’s glower implies otherwise. They sit at the dining room table, all clothed and centerpieced to the nines. Castiel is such a sap. Dean notices the unlit candles and smiles inwardly. He’s quiet as they eat, eyes flicking from his food to Castiel’s stubble.

“I agree,” Cas is saying, but Dean missed what they’re all talking about. He knocks back the rest of his beer, pressing his ankle against Castiel's under the table. “It's hard to get away from the shelter sometimes, mostly because I don't want to.”

“That's admirable,” Sam says, a smile at his lips. Dean rolls his eyes without glancing over at his brother.

“You can date him if you want, Sam. I think you have more of a hard-on for him than I do.”

“Dean!” Sam snaps, affronted, and Cas shakes his head.

“Don't worry, Sam. I'm fully aware of your brother's indecency,” Cas replies, his voice entirely too affectionate. He turns to look at Sam, offering him a warm smile. “Have I ever told you how Jessica used to talk about you, Sam?”

The color drains from Sam's face quicker than he can whip his head to look between Cas and a very apprehensive looking Jess. “What?”

Castiel continues hesitantly, against Dean's unreadable expression. “Well, when Dean told me to talk to her for you-”  
“Dean.” Sam's voice is even and quiet. Dean instantly recognizes the deep rage that vibrates in each syllable. Cas looks concerned. Jessica just watches, amused, sipping at her wine.

“I- was-” Cas furrows his brow. “Was it a secret? I'm sorry, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head violently. “No, Cas, it's not your fault.” He holds Jess’ hand openly on the table. “It turned out great. _Dean_ just doesn't know when to keep his _enormous mouth shut._ ”

“C'mon, Sammy, I was just,” Dean gestures vaguely, “pushing the boat along a little. Anyway, Cas, tell him what she said.”

Jessica leans against Sam’s broad shoulder, smirking. “Yeah, tell him.”

Cas nods gently. “She said she thought you were very handsome-”

“That's not all she said,” Dean admonishes.

“He’s right,” Jess says. “Tell him the other part.” Sam looks appropriately unnerved.

Castiel swallows around the unfamiliar words. “She said-” he grins, gently, “she said 'I'd break me off a piece of that.'”

Sam gives a poor attempt at hiding his self-satisfaction as he looks down at his girlfriend. He pokes at his meal with his fork, a goofy grin overtaking his features. “That's sweet.”

“Sweet?” Dean bursts, throwing his arms out. “Sammy, that's flat-out objectification. She wants your body, dude.

“Trust me, he doesn’t leave me wanting,” Jess says around a mouthful of pasta.

“Aw, Jess, don't be gross.”

“You started it,” she shrugs.

Castiel looks to Dean, whose self-satisfied look is nearly trumping Sam's earlier one. Cas rolls his eyes and sets his fork on his plate. “Well, at least dinner was delicious. I apologize if Dean's lack of social skills stilted it in any way.”

Sam allows a very sincere laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Nah, Cas, it was great. I'm glad you liked it.” He yawned, deeply, downing the last of his wine. “That being said, I have a morning shift tomorrow. We should probably hit the road and leave you two to clean up this mess.”

“What? Sammy, c'mon, we-” Dean tries, but Castiel holds up a hand.

“We insist. Go get some rest, Sam.”

“Aw, Cas-” Dean tries to complain, but Cas toes at his shin under the table. “Ugh, fine. You wash, though. I'm an expert dryer.”

They walk Sam and Jess out, he both of them, and give their hugs goodbye. “Happy Valentines’,” Sam says into Dean’s ear as they hug. “And congratulations on the new place.”

Dean hardly resists a squawk but Sam keeps holding him close.

“You unpacked your DVDs,” he says. “I think it’s great.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbles without a trace of anger. Sam pats him a few times on the shoulder, wraps his arm around Jess, and takes his leave.

///

Castiel watches the exchange curiously, turning to Dean for some sort of explanation, but he’s already making his way up the stairs. He shrugs and follows; they have a lot of cleaning to do. Once he gets back upstairs, though, Dean has all but disappeared. Castiel rolls his eyes, he’ll be damned if he’s cleaning alone. He gathers the plates from the table, ready to bring them to the sink, but turns into Dean's warm chest.

“Oof,” he mumbles against Dean's warm t-shirt. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, who is still balancing the dishware.

“Forget the dishes,” Dean murmurs into Castiel's temple. “Let's make out.”

He tips Cas' chin up and kisses him, sliding a hand down to rest right at the small of the other man's back. Cas kisses back for a moment, letting his tongue press tentatively against Dean's, before pulling back.

“No, Dean. We have to clean up.”

Dean groans, loudly, tipping his forehead against Cas'. “No way. It can wait an hour.”

“Oh, don't be such a wuss,” Cas says, moving easily toward the sink and tossing Dean a drying rag.

Dean reluctantly takes his place at the drying rack, managing to stave off his grumpiness as he watches Cas pull on the yellow rubber gloves fresh out of the package from under the sink. He hides an affectionate smile and takes a freshly washed plate from Castiel's hand.

“So, I wasn't supposed to talk about Jessica back then?” Cas asks, scrubbing at a knife. Dean shrugs.

“Nah, I think that's exactly how that should have gone,” he says, absently wiping some suds left on the knife. “He needed to know, otherwise he would have floated around in crush-limbo for a billion years.”

“Mm, yes, and that would be abhorrent.”

Dean glares over the cutlery, as Cas looks determinedly at the suds in the sink, a smirk just barely out of sight. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says lightly.

Cas shrugs, half-heartedly, and smiles at Dean. “Of course not.”

Castiel watches Dean dry the last plate, his rough hands hurriedly passing over the porcelain. A little wave of warmth runs down his arms to his fingertips at Dean's ease, his domesticity. Like he’s already settled. Like it’s what Dean wants.

“We can pause on one condition,” Cas says, and Dean's eyebrows raise as he puts the plate away. He watches Cas remove the rubber gloves and toss them on the counter.

“What condition?”

Cas crowds Dean against the counter, resting his fingers on Dean's chest. Dean's hands automatically fall to Castiel's waist, squeezing gently as Cas presses against him. Cas tucks his head into the side of Dean's neck, breathing in, reveling in Dean's tiny shiver. “Show me our bedroom.”

“Yup, can do,” Dean says, pushing a laughing Castiel away from him and grabbing his wrist, yanking him toward their room. Anna perks up from her dog bed as they pass her, and Dean holds up a hand to her. “Stay.”

Dean kicks the bedroom door shut and turns around to Cas grabbing at him, pulling him back to the bed and on top of him. Dean's knees land on either side of Castiel's hips, their torsos laying flush, mouths just a breath apart.

Castiel runs his hands up Dean's back, under his t-shirt, stroking the warm skin as Dean drops his lips to Cas'. The kisses are chaste, soft, until Cas slides his fingers down to Dean's ass and grabs, pulling him forward, rocking their hips together. Dean gulps in a breath and Cas surges up to meet his open mouth, sliding his wet tongue against Dean's.

“Get naked,” Dean mumbles into Castiel's mouth.

They move fluidly together, Dean opening up under Castiel's smooth ministrations, being undressed and stretched open and lowered down. Cas watches as Dean comes apart, vulnerability vibrating against his skin, emanating from his half-lidded eyes. Castiel breathes it in as he touches Dean, soothing and hot and rhythmic, slick skin sliding together over and over. Dean rolls his hips down, taking Castiel deep, breathing stilted against Cas' cheek. His eyes are tightly shut, crinkled at the edges, and Cas licks his neck.

“Shit-” is all Dean can say, panting, hips rolling erratically.

Cas hums against him, holding him still, and Dean stops. They breathe there for a moment, before Cas plants his feet on the bed and thrusts upward, keeping Dean pliable and flush against his chest while he moves, fast.

“Fuck! Cas, Jesus-” Dean moans, unraveling, coming hot and wet against Castiel's stomach. Cas moves through it, allowing himself a small noise into Dean's ear as his hips snap up hard and he follows suit, stiffening, grasping Dean tightly against his chest.

They lay there, sucking in air, kissing, stroking, stretching, until Dean wrinkles his nose.

“Shower,” he mumbles, muffled against the pillow.

“Mmhmm,” Cas agrees, but sleep is poking at his consciousness. He curls up against Dean's side, head falling onto Dean's chest.

///

It’s March and Castiel is watching him instead of the TV. On screen, there’s a house fire, someone’s screaming, Dean’s not sure. Some movie. Redbox never really offers much. Sure, his heartbeat is a little faster and maybe he’s sitting up a little straighter, but it’s fine. He’s just fine.

But Castiel is still next to him, eyes sharp, something too sad in there for Dean to handle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean grumbles, and he can just barely see Castiel flinch out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, encouraging him to peek up. Castiel’s mouth is set in a hard line, eyes narrowed and focused. “I’m glad to see you,” Castiel says. “I’m pleased you’re here. I care about you. That is all I’m feeling.”

“All?” Dean says, an apology on the tip of his tongue. Castiel’s tension eases.

“Well, maybe not all,” and his tone is mischievous, then drops to serious. “But certainly not pity, or whatever else you’ve made up in that overactive, overdramatic imagination of yours.”

Dean can’t help but smile. “We’re just never gonna stop bickering, are we?”

Cas is cupping his scarred cheek, thumbing across the taut skin as he pulls Dean in for a kiss. “No,” he says into his mouth, “not ever.”

Dean's arm falls possessively around Castiel's shoulders, Anna panting softly at their feet, and things are okay, for once, for awhile.

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> This was quite the trip, but definitely a fun ride. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Find me on [tumblr :)](http://dandelionwhiskey.tumblr.com/)
> 
> A huge, insurmountable thank you to my artist! You did such an amazing job. [Everyone go check her out immediately. ](http://summersteve.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Another huge thank you to my beta, Hannah, who really worked hard to get things on track.


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